


Cinnamon: Season 1

by SkycladFox



Series: Cinnamon [1]
Category: Furry (Fandom), Original Work
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Drama, Erotica, Family, Fluff, Humor, Intimacy, Multi, Nudity, Pet, Relationship(s), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 75,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21909895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkycladFox/pseuds/SkycladFox
Summary: The random adventures of orange tabby AnthroPet Cinnamon, Cin or Cinna for short, and the human, Ian, (un)fortunate enough to 'own' her.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Cinnamon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Early Christmas Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first meeting, in which Cin arrives unannounced outside Ian's door in an...interesting...outfit, an early Christmas present from an eccentric Aunt, and they get to know each other.

IAN FOUND THE CAT standing demurely outside his door, clad in a tight and skimpy maid's outfit, a gigantic green bow around her neck and a small bag lying at her feet. With a bright smile that didn't quite reach her eyes she proffered a glossy green envelope marked with his name, having to reach up as she was only four feet tall to his five and a half.

He stared, dumbfounded, for several long moments, then took and opened it, to extract a sleek little Christmas card of a cat curled up in front of a festive fire. Reading the note inside, first one brow, then the other climbed for his short, rumpled ginger hair, then a deep groan left his mouth, soon turning to a rueful chuckle.

“Wonderful present, Aunt Vi,” he sighed, “but I'm really not keen on the packaging.” He tucked the card into a pocket on the front of his red dressing gown, then with a wide smile of his own opened his door and gestured for the cat to enter. “Come on in!”

With a polite bob of the head she took up her bag and stepped inside, looking around in open curiosity. The downstairs of Ian's small cottage was a sole oblong room, running lengthways from the door. Long and overstuffed bookshelves were to the immediate left, a two-seater sofa just in front of them, while to the right a compact flat-screen TV sat on a low table. A laptop computer rested on a side table to the left of the sofa, and an acoustic guitar was propped on a stand to the right of it. A kitchenette took up most of the far end of the room, and a tight spiral staircase the rest.

Ian guided the cat to the sofa, taking a seat while she stood in front of him, her nerves more visible now, in the twitch of her tail, the low set of her ears, and the faint flicking of her rich blue eyes. He held a hand out flat, palm up, and after a moment she tentatively sniffed it, mouth slightly open, whiskers flicking.

Then, like a switch had been flicked, all the tension drained out of the cat, her posture relaxing, and she smiled cheerfully at him. “You smell nice,” she told Ian, in a clear, quite light voice with a lilt of something he couldn't begin to place. “Do you mind if I ditch the maid outfit? It's pinching in a _very_ delicate place.”

“No objections here!” Ian assured her. “That _really_ doesn't suit you.”

“Well, it was either this, or...” She unzipped her bag, delved in a hand, then lifted out a slip of frilly black lace even tighter and skimpier than the maid outfit.

“Sweet mercy.” Ian physically recoiled. “I think I need to have words with my dear Aunt.”

“I did question her choices.” The cat started to wrestle herself free of the maid outfit. “But the lady wasn't exactly in a mood to listen.”

“She rarely is.” He chuckled. “You sure you're all right being nude? I think I've an old t-shirt you can wear, if you'd like.”

“I'm fine going natural,” she told him, smile widening as she packed the maid outfit and bow into her bag. “I'm sure I can trust you. I'd still like the shirt, though; just in case.”

“Nice way of putting it, thank you, and okay.” Ian made no move to go and get the shirt, though, too distracted by the cat in front of him, now peacefully nude bar a blue collar with a blank tag hanging from it.

Noticing he was staring, she gave a coy smile and revolved slowly and elegantly on the spot, letting Ian appreciate every last detail. Her form was a fetching balance of grace and curves, mostly swathed in warmly marmalade fur. Her pretty muzzle was soft white, as was a broad band that ran down her throat.

The white broadened to cover most of her full, well-rounded breasts, perky, salmon pink nipples nestled amongst it at their peaks. It swept down her belly, six further, smaller nipples peeking through the white either side of her fuzzy dimple of a navel, then tapered in to a sleekly shapely vulva, and splashed the insides of her thighs. It also lightened the centre of her pert rear, and swathed the end of her long tail.

“Well?” she finally asked, stilling facing him, hips cocking to one side and head the other.

“I believe,” Ian stated, “that you are far and away the most attractive AnthroPet cat I've ever laid eyes on.”

She giggled, the insides of her ears colouring. “And exactly how many AnthroPet cats have you laid eyes on?”

“Plenty, in photos; _but_...” He reached out to feather her cheek. “None of them come close to the real deal.” He stood up, smiling as her ears turned redder. “I'll be back with the shirt in a minute.”

He headed up the stairs. When he returned, a few minutes later, he was holding a bright red t-shirt with a small golden chevron on the left breast. The cat was still standing where he'd left her.

She grinned at the shirt as she took it. “Remind me never to beam down anywhere.”

Ian blinked, then laughed. “You'll be fine, M'Ress. Try it on.”

“Aye, Captain!” The cat slipped the shirt over her head. The neck was loose across her shoulders, the sleeves nearly reached her elbows, and the hem came within an inch of her knees. “You know, this actually is a passable M'Ress costume.”

Ian sat down on the left of the sofa, chuckling. “Maybe we should buy you a proper one. And any other clothes you might want.”

The cat pulled the shirt off, folded it neatly and set it on the right arm of the sofa, then sat sideways on his lap, her legs stretched across the cushions, her paws neatly folded in her lap. “First things first: you need to choose my name.”

Ian stared at her for a moment, then his left hand settled on her right hip, and his right brushed the empty tag thoughtfully. “What did your parents call you?”

“Many things.” She checked them off on her fingers as she spoke, her smile dryly humorous. “Nosy Parker. Pain In The Tail. Scruffy. Cheeky Little Bugger. And, once in a while, Harmony. I never really liked that name, though, mainly because people kept shortening it to Harm.” Her muzzle twisted in a grimace.

“I can understand.” Ian pursed his lips. “Ginger's too obvious. Kitty's too twee. Busty McFuzzytits probably won't fit on the tag...”

A padded hand batted his nose, its owner glaring playfully at him.

“And I'd _never_ be so crass as to name you purely for your breasts,” he was quick to demur. “Even if they are two of your loveliest features.” A finger brushed across one, just feathering the nipple.

The cat softened, nosing his cheek. “If I couldn't smell better, I'd think you were hitting on me.”

Ian laughed. “Hitting on my new pet! Oh, the scandal!” He ruffed her between the ears. “I didn't realise asexuality had a smell.”

“It's more a lack of,” the cat explained. “No arousal at all.”

The man nodded. “Never have been, likely never will be. Sex just has no appeal to me.” He sighed ruefully. “Just wish I could get Aunt Vi to understand that...”

“Ah, so _that's_ why...” The cat laughed, lightly shaking her head.

“Any chance she gets,” Ian confirmed, wearily. “Dressing a cat up as a 'sexy' French maid was a bit much even for her, though.”

“No harm done,” she assured him. “I just wish she'd bought one that actually _fitted_.” She nudged his chest. “Speaking of fitting...”

“Cinnamon!” Ian blurted out.

Her head cocked. “What?”

“Your name. We can call you Cinnamon! Cinna or Cin for short.”

“Cin?” The cat mused on it, then a wicked grin spread, and her voice sank to a seductive purr as she traced his jaw with one hand. “Makes me sound... _indecent_...” She beamed, and kissed his cheek. “Love it!”

“Cinnamon it is, then! We'll get your tag engraved when we go shop for clothes. Speaking of...”

“Oh, I wouldn't want much. A couple of tops, some shorts, a skirt or a simple dress, maybe a jumper for winter, a coat for wet weather, and _possibly_ a swimsuit.”

“Swimsuit?” Ian crooked a wry brow. “Didn't think cats liked water.”

Cin batted his nose again. “Don't believe every cliché. I actually really enjoy a swim. Any nice pools nearby?”

“There's a tropical water park on our side of the city, but I don't know if they allow pets.” Seeing the cat's ears perk, he added. “Let me grab my laptop and we'll find out...”

She twisted round and leaned over the arm to collect it, then sat back against him, setting the computer atop her thighs. Ian rested his chin between her ears, then reached around her to turn it on. Once it had fully booted up, he opened a browser, loaded the water park's website and soon located the information.

“We're in luck!” he told her, brightly. “AnthroPets allowed, as long as they're supervised by an owner. The park's open tomorrow, and...” His brow rose. “That's interesting.”

Cin's ears swivelled forward. “To say the least.”

“Want to go?”

She nodded vigorously. “If it's not too expensive.”

“It's fine,” Ian insisted, checking the cost. “Think of it as a celebration of our coming together, hmm?”

The cat tilted her head back to nose his chin. “So, I can assume you're happy having me as your pet, then?”

“Not a pet.” Ian was firm. “A friend. A companion. That I happen to own you is...neither here nor there, really.”

“Really speaking, you don't until you register me.”

“Good point.” Ian loaded the AnthroPet website then logged into his account, to be met with a message confirming a pet had been gifted to him, and requesting information. “You know your serial number, or do I have to search you for it?”

Cin laughed, and reeled it off with no hesitation. “Thankfully, they've not printed numbers on us since the prototypes; I've heard they itched like crazy, and considering _where_ they printed them...”

Ian paused in his typing to look at her askance.

The cat pointed to her rear. “No idea why they chose that bit and not, say, the ear, but I'm not a high-level genetic scientist.”

“I'm really not sure I want to know.” Ian submitted the form; a second later a confirmation screen displayed. “There! You're now mine, to do with as I please.”

Cin's smile was beatific, and a purr began to well from her. Ian set the laptop aside, closing it up, then wrapped his arms snugly about the cat and kissed the top of her head. The purring deepened.

“We'll have to buy you a cot, I think,” he continued, amiably, after a moment. “Put it in the spare room. You're welcome to share my bed, of course, but it's only fair you have your own space, too.”

“Don't go spending all your savings on me,” Cin protested, cuffing him lightly. “I'm happy to sleep on the sofa.”

“Not happening.” Ian nudged her nose. “You are getting a cot, and all the clothes you want, and a couple of luxuries, and all of your favourite foods, and that's _final_.”

Cin giggled. “How could I possibly argue with that?” She twisted and lifted herself just enough to rub her cheeks over his smiling face, and kiss his nose. Then she settled back in his lap, her eyes closing and her purring redoubling. “I've definitely fallen on my feet...”

Ian undid his dressing gown, pulling it loose so the cat was resting on his bare torso, warm fur against smooth skin, then threaded his hands together on her belly and loosed a contented sigh. “Thanks, Aunt Vi.”


	2. A Grand Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to a tropical water park for Ian and his uncommonly water-loving cat, which threatens to be spoilt by someone's bad behaviour.

Cinnamon led the way off the bus. The cat was wearing a thick wool jumper in several shades of dark green over a mint green tank top and shorts with paler stripes down the flanks, her tag was freshly etched with her name, and a lead was clipped to her collar, the other end held by Ian. He'd opted for jeans, a shirt and a pullover in subdued hues, a sizeable bag hanging from one shoulder.

Together they wove through a half-full car park to a vibrant sprawl of a building. Glossy automatic doors parted before them, and a wave of warmth washed over them. Cin's ears perked, her gait picked up, and her tail lifted. She fidgeted impatiently throughout check-in, and took off at pace the very instant it was over, almost dragging Ian with her.

The changing facilities were long rows of cubicles, a mixture of single and family ones, alternating with equally long rows of small and large lockers. Finding a vacant family cubicle, they ducked inside, locked the door, and changed, Ian into dark shorts that tied at the front, Cin into a simple, sleek one-piece that shaded vertically from white to pale pink.

Stepping back out they selected a large locker, packing everything bar two towels in, including the lead. Then Ian locked it and wrapped the plastic bracelet the key was attached to around his wrist, swivelling the latter to rest in a recess between band and skin. They stepped to rows of open showers to rinse themselves off then, towels slung over their shoulders, headed for the park proper.

It was huge, a yawning space crammed full of light, colour, noise and people, all swimming in oceans of clear blue water. There were racing slides, extensive shallows, a deep wave pool, four long flumes curling and twisting from a tall central platform to splashdowns on one side, a kids area and a water coaster weaving through it all.

“Where do we even _start_?” Cin breathed, eyes so wide they had a job fitting on her face.

“Chairs,” Ian stated, heading for an open, tiled area where a couple of dozen plastic examples were arranged, facing the pools. He placed his towel on a vacant one, and directed the cat to do the same. “Gives us somewhere to catch our breath when we need to.” He cast around. “I think we should start with a little race, then try the flumes, then have a breather, then maybe the wave pool or the water coaster, and I might even try that little obstacle course I can see over there.”

“Right!” Cin surged excitedly for the racing slides, a laughing Ian close behind.

They had to wait at the top with a compact, pleasantly plump woman in a generous, bright yellow bikini and a chocolate labrador AnthroPet in steel-blue trunks whose ears kept twitching nervously. Holding the queue up were a wiry man and his two sons, all clad in colourful board shorts and arguing vigorously over who got to use which slide. The cat fell to staring at the flumes, debating which to try out first, only to be jarred from her reverie by a sharp, stinging tug on her tail.

She yelped and clutched at the base of it, then whirled round to see a whooping father and sons start their plunge down the racing slides as the woman and the dog paused in their move to the top to stare at her in shock, the latter even jumping slightly.

Ian crouched close, hands going to her shoulders. “Cin?”

“Someone yanked my tail!” the cat exclaimed, indignantly, glowering at nothing in particular.

“Any idea who?”

Cin's gaze briefly played over the lady and the labrador, then fixed on the father and sons, now splashing to messy halts in the long, shallow troughs at the end of the slides. “Must have been one of the brats.”

“For what it's worth,” the dog ventured, “the only one I saw go near you was the father...”

“Trying to stop one of his kids, maybe?” Ian suggested, scratching the top of the cat's head lightly.

“Then bolting when he failed.” Cin sighed, relaxing. She nuzzled the man's cheek. “I'm good. Let's forget the brats and race.”

Ian hugged her briefly, then once the labrador had beaten the woman to the bottom he and the cat got into position, side-by-side.

“Ready...” He gripped the sides.

“Set...” So did Cin, her intent gaze fixed on the finish line.

“ _Go_!” They chorused, shoving off together.

While Ian stayed sitting, Cin took a risk and lay back, clasping her tail to her belly. It paid off, as she quickly took the lead, but it also meant she had less control, so she weaved and shook a little, and even lifted from the slide for a second as she flew over the second bump. At the end, she span out as she hit the trough in a billowing splash, surfacing just in time to grin triumphantly at Ian as he slid to a halt beside her.

“Best of three?” he suggested.

“You're on!” She sprang from the water and bounced up the ramp.

She sat for the next one, and Ian won by a full three feet, so she tried lying again for the third. She span and tumbled at the end, hitting the trough almost face first, but she won, just, and did her best to rub it in while spluttering out water and rubbing sodden fur from her eyes. A laughing and gracious Ian kissed her forehead and helped her up.

“Need a moment?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” Cin insisted. “Flumes, now!”

She eagerly led the way to the central platform, and up to the second of its three levels, where a trio of flumes began. Since it was currently vacant, and the light was green, they headed for the leftmost, named simply 'Mega-flume'. Ian insisted on going first, climbing in, sitting on the raised platform just long enough to take a breath, then a push and a rush and he was gone.

Cinna watched the lights above the tunnel, waiting for the red one to dim and the green to glow anew, butterflies beginning to flutter in her stomach. When she got the go-ahead, a minute later, she was quick to set herself on the platform, but a couple of long seconds passed before she shoved herself forward and let the water take her.

Ankles crossed, hands crossed on her chest with her tail pinned under them, the cat hurtled down the curling and rolling tube, feeling like her stomach, butterflies and all, had been left at the top. It caught back up with her about halfway down, breathless anxiety becoming breathless thrill, and when she reached the pool at the end she was grinning.

She tried to surge into standing, but overbalanced, and thumped into someone. Straightening up, she found it was Ian, who drew her to the side of the pool, away from the exits of the flumes. He perched on the lip, his hands sliding to her hips, fingers trailing over her rear, and gave her an indulgent smile.

“Enjoyed that, then?”

She nodded heartily, her hands resting on his chest. “Once I'd gotten over the shock! Give me a second, then we'll try the next one.”

She settled more closely against him, and he rested his chin between her ears. Whoops preceded the arrival, from all three flumes in rapid succession, of the wiry man and his sons. Ian tensed, but resisted the urge to clasp Cin more protectively, and to look as they passed by, only permitting himself a cursory glance. He still thought he saw the man's lip curl in their direction.

Only once the trio were gone did he and the cat move, her ears pulled back a little the whole way up the platform. They perked on seeing the next flume, the 'Sidewinder', was available, and she waited with some impatience for Ian to reach the bottom of it. When the light was green she didn't hesitate to go.

This one didn't weave as strongly as the first, but there were passages where the current shimmied rapidly from-to-side, including a powerful one just before the end. She enjoyed it quite a bit more than the first, to the point she cheered as she hit the pool, and this time managed to stay on her feet.

She and Ian went straight round to try the third, but this one gave her pause. The name alone – the 'Void' – was unnerving enough, but that it plunged into darkness within a few feet was worse. They had to wait this time, and when their turn came the cat decided to get it over with and go first. The instant the green light came on she entered.

It was dark almost the whole way down, too dark to see anything, and it writhed and flexed in a manner she found almost violent, and by the time she was hitting the pool she actually felt faintly nauseous. When Ian appeared a little over a minute later his expression spoke volumes, and he was a touch unsteadily in joining her.

“Strike that one from the re-ride list,” he stated firmly.

Cin nodded. “A little too intense for me. I want to ride the Sidewinder a couple more times, then a break feels like a good idea.”

“No argument here.”

The second go on the cat's favourite flume so far was even more fun than the first, but the third was marred when, on heading round to the platform for it, they passed through a thick knot of people, and her tail was given another heavy yank. She fumed but moved on, aware there was nothing she could do.

Luckily, the crowd had dispersed by the time they came round again, so they made it to their chairs unmolested. Rather than settle in them, though, they chose to sit in the shallows nearby, gentle waves lapping over their legs, Cin's back against Ian's chest, his hands resting on her lower belly, hers trailing in the water.

He pressed quite a firm kiss to the top of her scalp, just behind ears at low mast. “I'm sorry, Cin.”

She tilted her head back to look at him. “Why apologise? You're not the one pulling my tail.”

“No, but I should be doing more to stop it,” Ian sighed. “It's my job to look after you.”

Cinna's expression warmed markedly, then she cuffed the side of his head. “Don't be daft. Only way you could stop it is to keep a constant guard on my backside, and what fun would that be for you?”

“Oh, it wouldn't be a _complete_ bore,” Ian couldn't resist teasing. “The view would be agreeable, if nothing else.”

Cin sniggered, and playfully clipped him again. “Hush, you. Don't give people the wrong idea.”

Ian pouted. “But I thought you loved me?”

The cat favoured him with a knowing smirk, then stood; that this put her backside very close to his eye level and only a few inches away was purely coincidental.

“I think I'm going to try the wave pool proper,” she decided.

“All right; I'll watch from the edges.” Ignoring a temptation to kiss one of her cheeks, Ian instead just lightly patted it as he got up.

He followed Cinna deeper into the water, stopping when it got to his waist, settling against the side to look on as the cat swam close to the deep end. She rode the swells well, sometimes dipping under one, to pop up again past it, other times rolling along one as far as she could, and once or twice letting it carry her back a little.

After about ten minutes she started toward him, and too late he saw the wiry man and one of his sons heading out into the deep pool. Her path and theirs crossed in the midst of many other people, there was a shout bordering on a scream, and then Ian was rushing out to catch a spitting mad cat around the waist and haul her away.

Ignoring the many faces turned their way he returned to the edge and held Cinna tightly, letting her seethe against him, her claws pricking his chest. It took a while, but she finally sagged, her head pressed into his skin, hot tears pricking her eyes. A moment later a staff member came over, crouching close.

“What happened?” they asked, not unkindly.

“Someone keeps pulling her tail,” Ian explained. He nodded towards the wiry man and his son. “We think it's that boy.”

“Can you prove it?”

Ian sighed. “No, unless someone saw it this time.”

Nodding once, the staff member raised their voice. “If I could have all of your attention, please.” Once all eyes were on them, they continued calmly. “Did anyone see what happened just now?” A sea of negatives and shaking heads. The staff member frowned, and looked back to the man and the cat. “I'm afraid there's not much we can do, except keep an eye on you as best we can. If we can catch them in the act, then it's instant banning from the park.”

“All right.” Cin managed a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Happy to help.” The staff member moved away.

The cat rubbed her face quite firmly against Ian's, then eased out of his arms. “I want to try that swirly basin flume.”

“All right,” he agreed. “Then I'm gonna try the lily pads.”

Hand in hand they made their steady way to the central platform, and the lowest of its tiers, where a flume called 'Spin Cycle' started. While Cin joined the short queue, Ian headed to the raised, tank-like pool it ended in. When her turn came the cat didn't hesitate, pushing herself into what proved to be a short, fairly steep sweeping curve of a tube.

It rushed her into a large, swirl-painted bowl with an opening in the middle, that Cinna swept around three times, slipping lower each time until, just a little disorientated, she dropped into the pool below with a heavy splash. While underwater, she spotted Ian looking in through a broad perspex panel, and waved to him.

Hauling herself out via a ladder she hastened to meet him by the lily pads, that were thankfully close by.

“Well?” he asked.

“Dizzying, but fun,” she replied. “Still prefer the Sidewinder, though.”

“Fair enough.” Ian climbed onto a solid platform, from which a series of plastic lily-pads ran across the water, anchored to the pool floor by poles that let them move side-to-side and spin; above them a pair of parallel poles ran, rope hand-holds suspended from them. “How far do you think I'll get, hmm?”

Cin made a show of examining the course, wading alongside it. “Oh, I think...four pads, maybe?”

“That far?” Ian grinned. “I'll try not to disappoint.”

He grabbed a hand-hold, and swung out, feet reaching for the first of the pads. It shifted away, he slipped, and fell back first into the water, a small wave splashing over Cin.

“I'm disappointed,” she told him, deadpan.

Ian threw a playful glare at her, retaking the start platform. This time he managed to make it to the second pad before losing his balance.

“Slightly less disappointed,” Cin reported, still deadpan.

Ian's next attempt got further, to the third pad, but as he was trying to align the fourth with his foot so he could get to it, he spotted the wiry man stealing up behind Cin, out outstretched. He jerked his head, and she whipped round, catching the man's hand, her claws extending just enough to prick his skin.

“You?!” she spat. “Why the _hell_...?”

He didn't get a chance to reply, as the staff member who'd spoken to them earlier arrived, with backup. They escorted the man and his sons from the park, leaving Cin to heave a long breath.

Ian hugged her. “If you want to leave...”

“What, and miss the best bit?” She shook her head. “How long have we got, do you know?”

“About half a hour, so time to ride the water coaster.”

“Good!” Cin led the way.

They grabbed rubber rings from the end of the coaster, then walked the path to the start. Ian went first, then Cinna got into her ring in the small pool at the start; when the operator gave her a nod she used two bars to pull herself over a small rise, then off she went. It was a zippy, entertaining ride, her ring threatening to spin but never quite doing it, jets of water sending her surging over hills, and the final drop ended in a splash that left her gasping and crashed over a waiting Ian.

She bounced out laughing. “ _So_ good!”

“Best ride here, I'd say,” Ian concurred. “Let's do the Sidewinder once more, then we should be set for the last hour.”

They actually managed to ride it twice before the announcement they were waiting for came over the tannoy.

“ _Attention, please: for the final hour of operation this park is costume optional. Thank you.”_

Cin and Ian hastened back to their chairs, but the cat hesitated; then she saw the plump woman nearby, shedding their bikini top, and the uncertainty vanished. She wriggled out of her costume, set it with her towel, then stood nude in the shallows, a certain giddiness overcoming her. Ian kept his shorts on, but the labrador joined the cat in wearing just fur and a collar.

“This is _so_ surreal,” she laughed.

“Hard to believe it's even a thing,” the dog remarked.

“Maybe the owner's a naturist?” Ian suggested.

“Someone told me it's thanks to a survey, but how true that is...” The plump woman shrugged. “Anyone feel like a race?”

“Now there's no tail-puller to ruin things, yes!” Cin happily agreed.

The foursome returned to the racing slides, most of the other people they passed either partially or fully nude now, and lined up at the top, Cin on the far right. The plump woman counted them down; on go an eager cat lay back again, but started to twist halfway down, lost most of her momentum, and came in dead last.

She tried to be angry about it, but between the rush of sliding naked and the innocent delight on the face of the labrador, who'd won, it was pretty hard. They raced four more times, and she finished third once, second twice, and finally last again. Her mostly mock frustration at not securing a win was entirely mollified by a firm hug and kiss on the side of the muzzle from Ian.

While the woman and the labrador decided to ride the water coaster, Ian and Cin headed for the flumes. Finding the two they liked were on green lights they decided on another race, Ian taking the Mega-flume and Cin the Sidewinder, dropping into them simultaneously. Without a suit the sensations were heightened, leaving her more breathless than her first run come the end. That she won barely even registered.

Spin Cycle didn't feel very different until she dropped into the tank, a markedly stronger rush with nothing between her body and the water surging and crashing around her. Ian got a brief view of her nude form hanging gracefully underwater that made him wish they were allowed to bring cameras into the park.

Cinna found the water coaster such great fun in the nude she rode it three times in quick succession, and was genuinely giddy when Ian got her to finally leave it be. Rather than rest as he suggested, though, she headed into the deep wave pool, riding the swells with palpable glee for even longer than the first time.

When she finally withdrew it was to sit sideways on Ian's legs in the shallows, panting and blissful.

“So, tail-pullers aside,” Ian asked, stroking her hip, “good day?”

“Wonderful day!” She rubbed her face against his and kissed his nose and cheek. “Thank you so much for this!”

“My pleasure,” he assured her, pressing his lips to her scalp. “Want to do this again, some time?”

The cat nodded energetically, starting to purr. “I'm in grave danger of loving you, you know.”

Ian laughed, and held her closer. “Likewise, Cin. Likewise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The water park in this story is strongly based on a real park two friends and I once spent a fantastic day in. The costume-optional hour is entirely fictional, however.


	3. Christmas With the Careys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian and Cin spend a pleasant evening with the former's characterful boss, Tim, and their shy AnthroPet rabbit, Hazel. Things, however, may not quite be what they seem...

Cinnamon's ears twitched nervously under the hood of her coat as Ian pressed the bell. Footsteps came briskly to the door, and it was pulled open by a fairly stocky, quite tall man with dark hair, deep and vibrant brown eyes, and a sly, even vulpine smile. He wore dark trousers and an emerald green waistcoat with matching bow tie.

“Ah, Ian!” he greeted, his voice deep and richly avuncular, his manner warmly charming. “Come in, come in!”

Ian, wearing a pale suit and tie with a raincoat over it, gave the man a firm hug and stepped inside. “Good to see you, Tim! May I introduce my new best friend – Cinnamon. Cin, this is my boss, Tim.”

The cat moved closer, nerves growing. “Delighted to meet you.”

“Oh, the delight's all mine, I assure you!” Tim beamed, taking up her hand and kissing the back of it. “Please, come inside and hang up your coat, then we'll join Hazel.”

“No Pat?” Ian asked.

Tim shook his head, sadly. “Unwell, I'm afraid, and as Glyn's still with his family, it'll just be us tonight. Hope you don't mind.”

“I'm sure we'll cope.” Ian set his coat on a hook, then stood aside for Cin to do the same.

Beneath hers the cat was clad in a sleek, wine red chiffon dress with a wide halter neck, a low, elegant back, a thin sash around the waist and a flowing skirt that reached her ankles.

“My, my, my!” Tim's grin widened. “Dear Violet's taste in companions is truly impeccable!”

“I'm certainly not complaining.” Ian affectionately stroked the top of Cin's head, between reddened ears. “Shall we?”

“This way!” Tim ushered them along a tidy passage lined with scenic paintings to a plush sitting room lined with antique bookcases, vintage books filling every one. Six generous armchairs and a card table took up the central area, with cosy lighting provided by standing lamps. The wreaths and garlands of twined holly, pine and red and green ribbons artfully spread around lent a festive air.

By one of the chairs stood a sandy-furred AnthroPet rabbit female in a tan waistcoat and trousers, her hands tidily folded in front of her. She was a little shorter than Cin, with pale green eyes, slender ears, a trim figure with subtle shaping and a generous puff of a tail. A pair of wide, curved glasses spanned her muzzle, linked to a chain around her neck.

“Hazel, meet Cinnamon!” Tim introduced, with grand flourishes of an arm. “Hazel, Cinnamon. I'll get the drinks...”

As he swept through another doorway, a suddenly bashful rabbit took a step towards the cat, stretching out a paw. “P-pleased to meet you,” she welcomed, voice a softly husky murmur. “You look l-lovely.”

“Thank you.” Cin lightly squeezed the hand, feeling self-conscious for no reason she could figure out. “You look...smart.”

“Smartest bunny you ever did see!” Tim declared, striding back in to set a tray of drinks and glasses on the card table. “A veritable fur-lined encyclopaedia. Couldn't manage without her!” He brushed her cheek with a fond smile. “Now, we have a sprightly brandy for us, Ian, and a nice fruit juice for the ladies. If it doesn't appeal, dear Cinna, I'm sure we can find something else.”

“It should be fine,” the cat assured him.

“Good, good!” Tim gestured to the chairs. “Sit down, sit down.” While everyone else took seats he passed out drinks, then settled down with a full glass of brandy. “You know, it's a great pity you girls can't imbibe with us. Make for an even more amiable evening.”

“Someone has to stay responsible,” Cin responded, dryly.

“Hah!” Tim barked a fulsome laugh. “Fair point, well made!” His eyes sparkled. “And a wit to match her beauty. A rare one indeed!”

“Please don't exaggerate,” the cat demurred with a chuckle, ears red.

“And don't even _think_ of trying to steal her away,” Ian warned.

“Wouldn't dream of it!” Tim assured him. “Got a rare one of my own already. They do make such a difference, don't they?”

“Definitely. Only had Cin a few days and already can't imagine living without her. True, a few less hairballs would be appreciated, but...”

Cin leaned over to cuff him. “Says the man who leaves beard shavings in the sink and toenail clippings practically everywhere, and...”

“You keep going,” Ian warned, playfully, “I tell them of the outfit you were wearing when you showed up outside my door.”

“You promised never to mention it again.” Cin pouted.

“Knowing Violet, I'm guessing something 'racy'?” Tim posited, with a knowing smirk.

The cat nodded. “A French maid outfit two sizes too small. It was that or a bit of lace you could call lingerie if you were feeling generous.”

Hazel's ears stood stiffly upright. “My goodness. Whyever would she make you wear such inappropriate things?”

“To try and get a rise out of Ian,” Cin clarified, finding it very hard not to smile as she looked at the gentle rabbit. “If you catch my drift.”

“She means well, in her own strange way.” Tim sighed. “But this does feel a step too far. Maybe I should have another word with her.”

“Don't put yourself out on my account,” Ian told him. “I've learned to live with her, and the outfit did help break the ice.”

“Ah, but it's not just your account,” Tim argued. “It was hardly fair on poor Cin, either. No thought of her preferences, at all.”

“I don't even know them,” the cat admitted, quietly.

“No shame, there,” Tim was quick to state. “Took me an absolute age to figure out I had a terminal weakness for fair-haired young men.”

“And I've only just realised where my interests lie,” Hazel contributed, her faintly coy gaze on Cinna. “Not that I've the confidence to act upon them, just yet.”

Tim lightly scratched behind her ear. “You've plenty of time.”

Indecision filtered across Cin's face; she eventually opened her mouth to address the rabbit, but Tim's booming voice cut her off.

“So, who wants to see my latest acquisition?”

“A suitably stirring tale attached to it, I hope?” Ian asked.

“Of course!” Tim reached behind him, sliding a slim, brown volume from the shelf and holding it up. “ _This_ is a diary. More particularly, it's a diary written by a fairly low-level member of a Chicago gang during the 1920s. The era of prohibition.” His grin grew. “The era of Alphonse 'Scarface' Capone.”

“ _Capone_?” Ian exclaimed. “Even for you that's a find.”

“Well, they weren't a member of _his_ outfit,” Tim admitted, “but they were part of one of his tougher rival gangs. Still got snuffed out in the end, of course – no-one withstood Capone forever – but made it hard work for him. If it were a movie, it'd have been directed by Scorsese.”

“How'd you find it?” Cin asked, deep curiosity washing away her little conflict for now.

“Grit, moxie and pure dumb luck!” Tim laughed. “Heard rumours of it through the usual channels, and when I happened to find myself loose in Capone's old stomping ground a couple of months back I thought I'd see if I could track it down. It was difficult – the outfits might be long gone but Chicago people are still grit-hard and bargain tough – and I'll admit I almost gave up, especially since I was running out of time, but I heard of an auction of gangster memorabilia, and thought I'd check it out. Lo and behold, one of the lots was this very book! Got into a bit of a bidding war, and paid more than I wanted, but I won it, and it was worth it. Grim but illuminating, this little volume.”

“You collect books, then?” Cin was leaning forward, fascinated.

“Rare ones, strange ones, obscure ones,” Tim confirmed. “I even have one or two valuable ones. Care to guess which they are?”

The cat's gaze roamed across the hundreds of volumes all around the room, from large ones with elaborate, engraved covers to small, worn and shabby ones that looked to be barely holding together. “I wouldn't have a clue,” she admitted.

Tim replaced the diary, then moved round to draw a nondescript grey book from another shelf; he handed it to Cin, who read the stark black text printed on the cover: THE WAR OF THE WORLDS by H G WELLS.

“Oh!” The cat's ears perked forward. “I've wanted to read this one. I can't imagine why it'd be so valuable, though, unless...”

“Check the date,” Tim prompted, grin stretching to his ears.

Cin opened the book. “1897.” She gasped. “But...but _The War of the Worlds_ was published in 1897, which would mean...”

“Which would mean you're holding a genuine first edition,” Tim told her, drawing his words out with relish. “If I were to put that to auction, there's a good chance it would fetch a couple of thousand pounds...”

“ _Thousand_?!” Cinna squeaked. “And you're letting me _hold it_?”

Tim laughed. “Calm yourself, my dear. As far as I'm concerned books are to be read and held and enjoyed, not locked in plastic bags or glass cases or hermetically-sealed vaults, especially ones as brilliant as this.”

Cin stared at the book for a long time, sorely tempted, then she very carefully laid it on the card table. “I'd still rather not take the risk. No way I could afford to replace it...”

“I can lend you my copy,” Hazel offered.

The cat smiled at the rabbit. “Kind of you. Is it a favourite of yours?”

Hazel nodded. “My second, behind _Dracula_. Tim keeps insisting he'll buy me a first edition of that, but as you can't get one for less than ten thousand, I'm not holding my breath.”

“ _Ten thou_...?!” Cinna choked on her drink; Ian patted her back. “I had no idea there was so much money in books...”

“The right books, yes.” Tim, having returned _The War of the Worlds_ to its place, settled back in his chair and recharged his brandy. “You ought to see how much a first edition of _The Hobbit_ or _A Study in Scarlet_ will bring in, and that's before you get to the signed ones. Almost entirely out of my purview, of course, but I do get the odd wealthy client after something to boast about.”

“That reminds me,” Ian put in. “Did you ever find that signed _Wind in the Willows_?”

“None that aren't already in private hands, no.” Tim frowned. “I'm all for throwing in the towel – chances of one showing up for sale are tiny to say the least – but the client's adamant, so...” He shrugged, then sat up, smile flourishing anew. “Speaking of difficult customers, I hear you had a prime example in the shop, recently.”

Ian half-groaned, half-laughed. “You'll love this. Someone asked for a copy of, and I quote, 'the book with the girl and the queen and the cat in the hat and stuff'. It took us almost _half an_ _hour_ to figure out they meant _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ , and _then_ they decided they didn't want it after all. How I kept my cool I will never know...”

“So _that_ 's why you were so abusive to the steak that evening.” Cinna chuckled. “Almost hammered it through the counter.”

“I was pretending it was their face.” Ian flashed a dark grin. “Speaking of the shop, there's something else I need to talk to you about, Tim.”

“The new stock, yes.” Tim looked to the rabbit and the cat. “This'll be a little dry, ladies, so maybe you should show Cin your collection, Hazel dear. I'm sure she'll enjoy it.”

“All right.” The bunny stood and offered the feline a hand.

Feeling faintly self-conscious Cin took it, and allowed herself to be led from the room. She was taken to Hazel's bedroom upstairs, a cosy and softly-lit space with a modest bed, a trunk and a case overflowing with well-loved books. The rabbit directed the cat to sit on the edge of the bed then drew a pleasantly yellowed, 1970s edition of _The War of the Worlds_ from the shelf and handed it to her.

“It's not a first edition,” Hazel smiled, shyly, perching next to Cin, “but it suits me just fine. You can borrow it as long as you want.”

The cat felt her ears colouring. “Thank you.”

“You know...” The rabbit sidled a fraction closer, so their flanks lightly brushed. “That dress really does look lovely on you.”

Cin blushed brighter. “It-it was Ian's idea. He's spending far too much money on me.”

“You ought to see what Tim buys for me.” Hazel leaned over to open the trunk, and took out a delicate silver choker with a glistening citrine hanging at the front. “I've never plucked up the courage to wear it.”

“It's beautiful,” Cinna breathed. “And you really _should_ wear it.”

Redness climbing up her tall ears the rabbit put the choker on, citrine warm against the plush white of her throat. “Well?”

The cat stared at the bunny for a good long while, then reached out a hand to feather their cheek. “It's perfect for you.”

Hazel beamed, even as her ears burned. She took hold of Cin's hand and bashfully touched noses. “Do you...do you think...?”

The cat's own ears were more than a little warm, her eyes not quite able to meet the rabbit's. “I think...” She cleared her throat. “I think I' d like to get to know you better, and if...if things should happen to, well, happen...” She softly nuzzled their cheek. “I'd be fine with that.”

Hazel suddenly drew her into a hug. “Thank you. I promise to let you go at your own speed, and if things don't happen, well...” She gave the warmest of smiles. “At least I'll have a friend, regardless.”

“I can promise you that.” Cin squeezed her.

One of the bunny's ears perked. “Oh. Tim's calling. We ought to see what he wants.”

“All right.” Cin happily let Hazel take her hand again, and lead the way back to the sitting room. As they stepped into the doorway something in the manner of the two men set her on alert. A subconscious flick of Ian's eyes had her looking up, to find a sprig of mistletoe now hanging from the frame directly above. Hers narrowed. “What's going on?”

“Oh, we just thought it would be amusing.” Tim's eyes were alight in a way that set alarm bells ringing. “A little festive fun.”

“You planned this!” Hazel suddenly blurted out, her eyes wide. “You planned all of this! This whole evening!”

Cinna blinked. “You mean...?”

“I mean this was _all_ to set us up. To try and spark something.”

“Did it work?” Ian asked, hopefully.

“Well, yes, but...” The cat shook her head. “Why? Why do this?”

“Because Hazel's lonely,” Tim explained. “Yes, she has me, but I know she desires the company of, for want of a better phrase, her own kind, but is much too shy to do anything about it. When Ian took charge of you, such a lovely creature, one we knew Hazel couldn't resist, well...”

“We decided to...help things along.” Ian had the good grace to look at least a little guilty. “If we've done wrong...”

“I'm a little annoyed, true, but...” Cin sighed, softening, looking to the rabbit whose hand she still held. “Things have worked out. I still feel a price should be paid, though...”

“Maybe...” Hazel giggled faintly. “Maybe we only kiss if _they_ kiss.”

“Ooh.” An impish grin bloomed. “Good idea!”

Ian and Tim shared a look, then nodded together. “All right.”

“And it has to be on the lips, okay?” Cin insisted.

“Yours too,” Ian countered.

Two sets of ears coloured. “Fine.”

“But you go first,” Hazel added.

“Then kindly step aside,” Tim requested.

Rabbit and cat moved away, and the two men took their place in the doorway, under the mistletoe. A pause, Ian fidgeting, then Tim caught his face in both hands and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth.

When let free a blushing Ian spluttered and laughed. “The things I do for you, Cin.”

The cat and the rabbit were heaving with mirth, leaning against each other's sides.

Tim just grinned wickedly. “You've no idea how long I've wanted to do that, if only to see Ian squirm.”

“Well, it _is_ a little awkward being kissed by your boss,” the other man chuckled. “Your turn, ladies.”

Feline and bunny took their place beneath the mistletoe, gazing shyly at each other for quite a while, before finally, softly brushing lips. They hugged, briefly, then Hazel moved aside so Ian could take her place.

“I need to get rid of the taste of stale brandy,” he joked, before lightly pressing his mouth to the cat's muzzle. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

Cin laughed, glanced affectionately at Hazel, currently nuzzle-kissing a smiling Tim, and rubbed her face against Ian's. “None at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gangster diary is entirely fictional, but the first edition of The War of the Worlds is accurate to the real one, and the value, as well as that of the Dracula first edition, is as accurate as my research can pinpoint at the time of posting. Extra kudos to anyone who guesses who Tim Carey is less-than-subtly based on.


	4. Mousehunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon's relaxing afternoon alone in the cottage is disturbed by a furry little intruder. Catching it proves a lot harder than anticipated...

Cinnamon lazed on her side along the couch, one hand holding Hazel's copy of _The War of the Worlds_ in a comfortable reading position, other idly combing the fur of one breast. The cottage was peaceful, the only sounds the faint humming of the fridge-freezer, the subtle murmur of rain on the windows, and the regular ruffling of pages.

Her ears flicked at something out-of-place; a scurry, perhaps. Sitting up, she scanned the room carefully, but nothing stirred. Sighing, Cinna settled back down, scratching an itchy nipple and turning a page. Two paragraphs later she thought she caught a glimpse of something small flashing across the floor. Another survey came up blank, so she didn't move, but when a louder rustle came from the kitchenette she sprang to her feet, book thumping to the sofa in her wake, and rushed over.

She found nothing, except a bag of soft rolls that might have shifted a little. She leaned in to examine it, and a scent hit her nostrils that had her eyes dilating, her legs stiffening and her tail twitching. Whiskers in ceaseless motion she tracked it along the counter, down a towel hung on a plastic hook at the end, and over to a crack in the skirting. Beady little eyes gleamed in the darkness beyond.

A mouse.

All of the cat's senses zeroed in on it, hearing the minute shuffles of its paws, tasting the nervousness in its scent, watching it retreat, those pinpoints of light fading. A feline finger felt all around the crack, then probed into it. Quickly realising she'd have no chance of prying it out, Cin decided to withdraw, prowling back to the sofa and resuming her position, albeit stiffly, more upright, eyes locked on what she could see of the floor between the wall and the counter.

Minute after minute ticked by, until finally a small brown-grey shape crept into view. Cin tensed, lips parting, claws pricking the cushion of the sofa, but didn't move. Barely blinking, she watched as the mouse stole up to the towel, then started to climb it. Still the cat stayed put, though her haunches shifted restlessly.

The moment the little rodent reached the counter-top Cin exploded from the sofa, surging across the room. One hand hit the formica with a scrape of claws, missing the fleeing mouse by a whisker; the other smacked the towel away a second after the mouse slipped down it. A flurry of strikes and shining teeth chased it along the wall, but it darted safely into the crack, her nose smacking the wall above a fraction later.

Cinna grabbed her bruised muzzle, hissing imprecations. “Oh, you're in for it _now_ , Jerry.”

She stalked stiffly over to the TV table and settled on hands and knees behind it, peeking out just enough to see the crack. A full ten minutes eked past before a whiskery little nose sniffed into view. It withdrew several times before its owner risked taking a few steps out. Cin's ears perked forward and her haunches rolled slightly, but she forced herself not to budge an inch.

Along the skirting the mouse tentatively scurried, until it was sniffing around the crumpled towel. Now the cat moved, creeping noiselessly to the crack, slow and silky smooth. She set herself between it and the mouse, which turned, saw her and froze in place, and allowed herself a malicious grin.

“Gotcha.”

Cin sprang, and so did the mouse. Her hand clipped its tail as it tore for the nearest good cover, the TV table. She twisted round, using the counter to shove off after it, but her next lunge carried her too far and she clouted the corner of the table, rocking the TV and tumbling round to hit the floor in a jumble.

In the scant seconds she was dazed the mouse bounded up and over her body, leaving a little gift on her flank. She glared incredulously at it, then hissed in fury and scrambled back into pursuit. Her anger left her careless, though, and she bumped and bashed guitar and table and sofa as she failed to stop the rodent reaching the safety of a larger gap in the skirting near the front door, under a window.

Cin crouched low by it, spitting, eyes flaring. Prying a chunk from the aged, broken board half-covering the hole she shoved a hand in as far as she could, flailing around wildly, but finding nothing furry. She did, however, find something solid, something with little bits of metal on it that she recognised a horrible second before a snap sent searing pain racing along her arm.

Yowling, she wrenched her hand out, pried the dusty, rusty snap trap off her fingers and threw it away, then stuffed her abused digits in her mouth, sucking them fiercely. “Rotten pissing luck...” She glared at the discarded trap. “Must have been put in there by the last owner, the last time a mouse invaded.”

Not willing to stick her hand back into the hole Cin went in search of a torch. She found one in Ian's room, checked it worked, then returned downstairs. Grabbing a broom she lay it and herself flat in front of the hole; casting the torch's beam into it the cat found a much larger space than she'd expected, with another gap on the far side, to the outside world. Of the mouse there was no trace, not even when she used the broom handle to probe around.

She turned the torch off and sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. A moment later a tug on her tail tip by sharp little teeth startled her into dropping the torch, which landed square on her toes, which made her jolt up with a yelp, which meant she hit her head upon the windowsill, which made her drop heavily to all fours and start backing unsteadily away, which led to her putting a hand on the head of the broom, which thumped the handle up between her legs and against her vulva.

Toes smarting, head throbbing, lower lips burning with exquisite pain, Cinna curled up in a foetal position, teeth gritted, hot tears stinging her eyes. “All right, Jerry,” she wheezed, faintly. “You win. I quit.”

Something tickled her cheek. She cracked her lids to find the mouse nosing her; one of its tiny paws rested on her nose, and it looked at her with no trace of fear. In fact...

“If I didn't know better,” the cat laughed, faintly, “I'd think you were worried about me...”

The mouse nuzzled her again.

Cinna laughed louder. “You know, you're actually kinda cute.” Gently, she scooped the mouse into a hand than rolled to a sitting position. It sat calmly on her palm. The cat shook her head with a wry grin. “Ian's never gonna believe this...”

When the man came home twenty minutes later, to find his cat lying on the sofa, reading a book with a mouse resting on her breast, he did indeed have a lot of trouble believing it.


	5. Suit Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon, forced to wait outside a shop Ian's visiting, encounters something she can scarce believe - a furry. Any resemblance to fursonas real or imagined is entirely coincidental.

Cinnamon perched on the bench, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck and bundling her lead in her lap, and watching in open frustration as Ian entered a shop without her. Huffing, her ears low, she looked up the long pedestrianised street, then down to where it converged with a trio of others in a large, roughly hexagonal space, and froze.

A giant mouse had stepped into view. It walked upright on sturdily digitigrade legs with broad feet, was easily as tall as Ian, if not a little taller, and had plush fur in three distinct shades of blue, a long, curling, white-tipped tail, a big, round, shiny blue nose, huge, oddly motionless eyes and ears like radar dishes.

The cat's first reaction was to shy away, ears flattening, even shifting further along the bench, but then she realised no-one else was scared of them. Most people ignored the mouse, or just stared at it amused, while a few, mostly children, actually interacted with it, hugging it and patting it. There was also, she noticed, something a little forlorn about it, mostly in the way it seemed to be looking for something.

Then it saw her, freezing much like she had, before its paws went to its mouth and it did a giddy little dance on the spot. It started towards her, a comically waddling gait, paws outstretched, and she felt an urge to bolt into the store after Ian, AnthroPet ban be damned. When it got close enough, though, it finally dawned on her it was a suit, a costume, which meant there was a human inside. This was both relieving and a little confounding. Why, she wondered, would you _want_ to dress up as a giant blue mouse and wander around in public?

Cin still felt a little trepidation as it reached the bench, but it made no attempt to touch her, just stood with its paws on its muzzle again. She spotted a pack on its back.

Then it spoke, in a brightly feminine American accent. “I don't believe it! An actual, real _AnthroPet_! I-I never thought I'd _ever_ get to see one myself. Oh, you're so _beautiful_!”

Cin blushed, feeling incredibly awkward. “And I never thought I'd be gushed over by someone dressed as a giant blue mouse. Weird kinda day, all round.”

The mouse giggled. “Oh, sorry! Getting carried away.” She sat down beside the cat, tail curled up in her lap. “Never heard of furries?”

Cin shook her head.

“Well, a furry is a fan of anthropomorphic animals, ones that walk and talk and the like. We write about them, draw about them, role-play as them and even,” she gave a chuckle, spreading her arms, “dress up as them, in fursuits. Knowing that, I hope you can understand why it's so exciting to come across a, well, a _real_ furry like _you_.”

Cin laughed softly, increasingly charmed by the mouse, in spite of a lingering bemusement. “Fair enough. Why suit up in public, though?”

“Because it's fun; you get great reactions.” Her head sagged. “At least, it's fun when your handler doesn't ditch you.”

“Handler?”

“Someone who looks after you. Not great visibility in here, and it can be pretty awkward to move. Also, there's always that one kid that just _loves_ to yank your tail...”

Cin grimaced, almost hissing. “Yeah, I _hate_ that. They're not bloody bell-pulls.”

“Ooh, yes.” Sympathy filled the mouse's voice. “Must be much worse for you. I can get mine stitched back on, but...”

“Hard to do that with mine.” A little impulsively, the cat stuck out her hand. “I'm Cinnamon. Cin or Cinna to my friends.”

“Call me Lapis, as in the stone.” The mouse's paw engulfed the cat's hand, lightly squeezing and shaking it. “Pleased to meet ya!” She tilted her head. “Mind if I ask where your owner is?”

“In there.” Cin nodded toward the relevant shop. “They don't let pets in, so I'm stuck here 'til he's done, which'll likely be a while.”

“Ah.” Lapis fiddled her paws. “What if I were to keep you company?”

The cat smiled. “I think I'd like that. We can look out for each other.”

The mouse nodded, ears waggling. “Maybe Eric will come back.”

“Do they make a habit of ditching you?”

“This is the...” Lapis paused. “Third time. I honestly don't know why I keep asking them.”

“Any other choices?”

“There's Jan, but...they're always so busy, and, well...they don't know I'm a furry, and...and I'm scared they won't take it well...”

Cin was sympathetic. “They might think it's silly? Childish?”

“Or worse: perverted.” Lapis shuddered faintly. “People have all kinds of funny ideas about furries.”

“And what makes you think _they_ will?”

“Because it'd be just my awful luck.”

“Are they a good friend?”

“Wonderful, which is why...why I don't want to risk losing them.”

Cin patted their paw. “If they really are wonderful, you won't.” Feline ears perked, and she looked round to see a little boy staring at them in great excitement. “I think we're about to have company.”

“Where?”

The cat pointed. The mouse waved cheerfully at the boy, who giggled and waved back. With encouragement from his father, he trotted over and reached for Lapis. She hugged him gently, chittering amiably and twitching her head in a manner very reminiscent of another mouse Cin knew, and posed with him for a photo taken by the father.

Then he moved to Cin, treating her with just as much enthusiasm, his eyes shining. Following the mouse's lead the cat lightly embraced the boy, mewed cheerfully, nudged his forehead with her nose which got a flurry of giggling, and posed for another photo. The father and the boy thanked both of them before leaving, the latter chattering excitedly.

Cin watched on, laughing. “I'm starting to see the appeal! Maybe he thought I was a suiter, too?”

“Or maybe he just thought you're cute.” Lapis brushed the cat's nose with a big, soft paw. “You want to walk around a bit?”

Cinna glanced at the shop, then nodded. “Ian won't mind. You'll have to hold my lead, though.”

“Hee! There's an image. A mouse walking a cat.”

They stood together, Lapis taking Cin's lead in paw, then strolled along the street, heading for the hexagon. Quite a number of people reacted to the incongruous pair, to the point a crowd started to gather around them, smiling, laughing and taking pictures. For the most part Cin was able to manage them easily, only needing to hiss warningly at one or two who thought creeping up behind Lapis was a good idea.

A wannabe tail-yanker was warned away with particular vigour, and a grabby girl who tried to pry the mouse's nose off was shepherded back to her mother and told to kindly keep away. Another girl, a little scrap of wide, wondrous eyes and delicate hands, stole both their hearts, to the point they took turns giving her piggy-back rides.

After about twenty minutes Cin noticed Lapis was starting to flag, and suggested they return to the bench. Once sitting there the mouse took off her pack, pulling from it a bottle of water with a sports cap, shoving that into her muzzle and taking several deep draughts. Then she gave one of the longest sighs Cin had ever heard.

“Suiting's hot work. But fun.”

The cat nodded happily. “That was great!”

“Think your owner will let you do it again?”

“We can but ask. He should be back any minute.” Cinna looked to the shop, but saw no sign of Ian. She did, however, see a tall, blonde man staring at them in a mixture of confusion, disbelief and something else she couldn't identify. She called out to them. “Can we help?”

They stepped closer. Lapis noticed, and started breathing erratically, her paws wringing.

“Leslie?” the man asked, in a soft Teutonic accent. “Is that you?”

The mouse didn't reply, looking down.

The man very gently lifted her head, and peered into her muzzle. “It _is_ you! Of all the things...”

“J-Jan,” Lapis stuttered. “I...”

“You're a fur _too_?! And you have a _suit_?” He was elated. “And you're _Lapis_?! How did I not know this? I've got photos of you!”

“Wait, what?” The mouse was utterly stupefied. “You mean _you_...?”

Cinna dissolved in laughter. “Oh, my claws and tail! _All along_!”

Lapis was suddenly laughing too, and hugging Jan tight. “Oh, my God, you're a furry, too. To think I...”

“Even if I wasn't, if I can accept you as trans, I can certainly accept you as a furry.” Jan stroked her cheek.

The cat's head cocked. “Trans?”

“Just starting.” Lapis leaned in, pulling her muzzle open so Cin could see a bespectacled, boyish but feminine face inside. “One other thing about furries: we don't follow the rules.”

Cin giggled, and kissed the mouse's nose. “I hope it goes well.”

“It will if I have anything to say about it,” Jan averred. He offered his arm to Lapis. “If you'll permit, I'll be your escort from now on.”

The mouse stood and accepted the offer. “I'd be delighted. Thank you so much for looking after me, Cin.”

“It was a pleasure,” the cat assured her. “Hope I see you again.”

Jan jotted something down on a piece of paper and handed it to her with a smile. “Our emails. Keep in touch.”

“Happily!” Cin clasped it tight.

She watched as the giant blue mouse and the blonde man walked off arm-in-arm, shaking her head lightly.

Ian appeared by her side, following her gaze. “Friends of yours?”

“Seems so.”

He ruffled her ears. “What is it with you and mice, lately?”

Cinna smiled like she ought to have been living in Wonderland. “Just lucky, I guess.”


	6. The House Guest and the Haunted Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hazel the rabbit AnthroPet joins Cin and Ian for an overnight stay, during which the past comes back to haunt the trio. Literally.

Cinnamon woke slowly, blearily; she yawned, stretched, scratched an itch on her buttock and rubbed sleep dust from her eyes; then she saw the time glowing on the alarm clock on Ian's beside table and all of the drowsiness fled in an instant.

“ _Crap_ , I overslept!”

She scrambled out of the sheets, ears askew, fur heavily rumpled, and bundled herself downstairs, to find Ian sitting on the sofa alongside a sandy-furred rabbit wearing glasses, tan waistcoat and white trousers, a small bag at her feet. She rushed toward them.

“Hazel! I'm so sorry! I over...why are you looking at me like that?”

The bunny's ears were tinted red, and her eyes were wide. “I...I think you forgot something...”

Cin looked down, and it finally sank in that she was completely naked, not even wearing her collar. One arm clamped over her breasts, while the other hand covered her vulva. “Double crap! Should have known you'd be uncomfortable with this...”

“I-I'm sure I could get used to it,” Hazel told her. “I mean, if that's how you like to dress at home...”

“Well, yes, but...still doesn't seem fair. You're the guest, after all.”

Quickly recovering her composure, the rabbit stood up, stepped over her bag, and embraced the cat, kissing their cheek. “And a good guest adapts to their host's ways. It'll be fine, Cin.”

“If you're sure.” The cat relaxed, returning the hug and the kiss.

Hazel nodded, a little coyness stealing in. “Who knows, I might even be tempted to join you before I leave...”

Cin grinned. “Only if you really want to. I missed Tim, I guess?”

Ian nodded. “He's on a tight schedule. Sends his regards, though.”

“Hope he has a good trip.” She picked up the rabbit's bag. “Might as well show you where you're sleeping, hm?”

“I'd assumed the sofa,” Hazel admitted.

“Nuh-uh.” Cin caught her paw, and led her upstairs. Two doors stood to the right of a short corridor, with a third at the end. Cin opened the closest, to show off a modest room with a cot, a chest of drawers, a set of decorative thimbles on the chest, and a window that overlooked a partially waterlogged meadow, a straggling copse beyond it.

The cat set the bag on the bed. “You'll have my room! I'll be sleeping with Ian. Well, we _could_ share, but it'd be a tight squeeze, and I don't want to presume...”

Hazel giggled. “I'll admit, it's a tempting thought, not least as I hardly ever get to sleep with someone. Tim's not a fan of it.”

“Then all you have to do is ask. Be warned, though: I snore.”

“Ooh, not sure I can cope with that,” Hazel joked, then her expression turned fond. “I'll think about it. Now, I'm guessing the bathroom's the next door down?”

The cat nodded. “If you've any toiletries, there's plenty of shelf space in there. Also, if you need anything during the night, don't be afraid to wake me; chances of disturbing Ian are remote.”

“Understood. Anything else you need to show me?”

“Nothing comes to mind, unless you're interested in vintage packs of cards. Ian has quite the collection in his room.”

“Maybe later.” Hazel chuckled. “Right now, I wouldn't mind a drink.”

“All right.” Cin headed out. “Just let me visit the little cat's room and get my collar, and we'll see what we have.”

Just under ten minutes later the cat padded briskly down the stairs, collar in place around her neck but otherwise still nude, to find a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for her on the kitchenette counter. Ian was close by, sporting a robin-bedecked apron, and Hazel was sitting on the sofa nursing a glass of apple juice and clutching a small, elegant box.

It took a mighty effort for Cinna not to go bounding right over to look at the tantalising box, but she managed, only slightly rushing her food and even making a point of rinsing her hands. When the cat did plonk herself down on the couch she was all but vibrating with curiosity, her eyes locked on the box.

Hazel, a mischievous glint in her eyes, set the box gently on her lap so Cin could see it properly, and the cat let out a gasp. It was four and a half inches long, just over three wide, and around two high, and richly red, intricately geometric marquetry coated all six faces. It had no lock or handle or obvious means of opening, just smooth sides that shone gently in the light.

“This,” the rabbit intoned, with something approaching reverence, “ is a Japanese puzzle box. It's four sun – that's the length – with an Akasa pattern, and it's my most treasured possession. Inside it is something I hope _you_ will come to treasure...but you have to open it, first, and I'm not telling you how.”

Cin swallowed, eyes large. “I'm not sure I even want to _touch_ it. What if I break it?”

“Just be careful, and don't try to force anything, and you'll be fine.”

The cat breathed deep. “All right.” She took the box, and turned it in her hands, looking closely. After a good minute she discovered, more by touch than anything else, that the box actually did have seams, two running parallel to each other across either end. She carefully pushed between a pair, and a slat clicked out a little way. “Oh!”

“Good start,” Hazel encouraged.

Cin then discovered the entire panel shifted down fractionally. Trying the original slat again, it shifted further, then so did the panel, but she got no more movement from them after that. The top long panel was now free to slide slightly out, though, and that led her to the other two lines on the opposite end.

The same slat then panel mechanic was repeated twice, but after that nothing but three minutes of frustration. Mostly by accident she found that the second slat moved back, and that in turn let the panel drop a bit more. One last repeat of the slat out, panel down routine, and she was finally able to slide the lid off completely.

“Gotcha!” she whooped.

“Well done!” Hazel cheered. “You managed it quicker than Tim!”

“But not as fast as you, I bet?” Cin guessed, wryly.

“Well, no, but...” The rabbit giggled. “I had the advantage of knowing what it was. Going to open your gift?”

“Oh, yes!” Cinna peered into the box, where a small cloth drawstring bag was nestled. Plucking it out and opening it, she discovered that it contained two richly painted thimbles, decorated with swirling ribbons in green and red, a pretty, feminine figure dancing among them, one a cat, one a rabbit. She beamed. “These are _gorgeous_! Thank you so, so much!” She pressed a kiss to the bridge of Hazel's muzzle.

The bunny blushed. “Well, I can't claim _all_ the credit...”

Cin looked to her owner knowingly. “Still trying to 'help things along', huh?”

Ian, finished loading the small dishwasher, set it off and discarded his apron. “She asked, I answered,” he replied, simply. “Would you rather I'd said nothing?”

The cat regarded the thimbles with a warm smile. “No.” She stood up and started for the stairs. “I'll put them safely with the others, then we can decide what else to do with our d...” She froze in place, eyes wide, ears bolt upright, staring fixedly ahead of her.

“Cin? What's wrong?” Hazel followed her gaze, and stiffened too.

Ian looked as well, but saw just an empty staircase. “Guys?”

Cin dropped abruptly to sitting on the floor, tail twitching wildly, one paw rubbing the lower part of her face, her eyes, blinking repeatedly, still locked on the stairs. Hazel rushed to kneel with her, wrapping an arm round her, gaze flicking back and forth between cat and stairs.

“ _Guys_?” Ian persisted, confusion and concern rising quickly.

Cinna's eyes snapped to him. “You didn't see it?”

“See what?”

“The face.”

“Face?” Ian's screwed up in perplexity. “What face? All I saw was thin air.” A flicker of anger crept in. “Are you playing games?”

“No.” Cin gave a short, sharp shake of the head. “I'm telling you I saw a face, a gaunt, cadaverous man's face, floating near the bottom of the stairs. It looked...sad...”

“Haunted,” Hazel put in, seeming a little so herself. “It was haunted.”

“A ghost?” Ian's tone was flatly disbelieving, though something else was flickering faintly behind it. “You're saying you both saw a _ghost_?”

Cat and rabbit nodded together, once.

“A haunted ghost...” Cinna's eyes drifted back to the stairs. “I wonder what he was haunted _by_...?” They returned to Ian, and narrowed. “You know something, don't you? This is...familiar to you.”

His dipped. “There's a...tale about this place, but...I've never believed a word of it. I _don't_ believe a word of it. It's just a hoary old humbug the locals cooked up.”

“Tell us.” It was more than a request from Cin, but not quite an order, either. “Tell us all of it.”

Ian pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing, muttered something under his breath, then with a sigh and a sharp shake of the head strode to his shelves. Pulling out a slim volume with a brooding cover he took it to the sofa and sat down at one end. Cinna nestled up against him, and Hazel against her, ears pricked.

“This is a book of local ghost stories,” Ian told them, evenly, “written about twenty years ago. One of them is about this house, and it goes like this...”

_From the moment Robert Garrovick and his youthful daughter moved into Heather Cottage, a 300-year-old former crofter's house at the southernmost tip of South Brookvale, late in the heated Spring of 1905, they caused ripples. Garrovick was a distrustful man who volunteered little, barely socialised, and had a knack for antagonising others. His daughter, Verity, was pretty indeed, but seemed quite away with the fairies to most._

_Suspicions hung around them like a cloud, rumours of secrets buried within the walls of the house, ill-gotten gains of a dark past hastily fled that could at any time resurface to calamitous effect. For three years, though, nothing untoward took place, past Verity's continued eccentric, if harmless, behaviour. Then Garrovick's two brothers came to visit._

_Jacob was a craggy, gaunt man with staring eyes and a deep intensity that could quail the sternest of hearts, while in sharp contrast Edmund was a handsome, dashing society rake who seemed to gather female admirers wherever he went. Robert was seen to become increasingly paranoid with them around._

_Even when they left, he remained nervous and jittery, closing off completely, never leaving the house. A little over a month later, he was dead, seemingly of natural causes; many said he had worried himself to an early grave. Jacob, with impressive speed, arrived to attend to his brother's estate; he soon took residence at Heather Cottage, and charge of Verity._

_While his brother had merely been distant, Jacob was openly hostile, and fiercely protective of his niece. Edmund drew his ire more than anyone, being barred from even setting foot in the house. Inevitably, rumours built anew, of Jacob Garrovick the heartless murderer of his own brother._

_Nothing could ever be proven, however, and four more years passed, Jacob becoming a demagogue, and Verity blooming into one of the finest flowers of the vales, stealing the heart of many a red-blooded local lad. She reciprocated no advances, however, preferring her uncle's company, or her own. A few of the boys insisted they'd seen her frolicking shamelessly naked along the tide of a cove to the north, or in sheltered woodland streams, and the rumours grew more scurrilous._

_It was on a wind-tossed night in the restless summer of 1912 that keen tragedy struck. Edmund had been staying in South Brookvale's inn for a week, intent on discussing something of great importance with his brother – what, no-one knew – but getting nowhere. Jacob's anger mounted each day until, that awful night, a truly fearful row shook Heather Cottage._

_Edmund stormed away, holing up in the inn. Verity fled into the night, crying; the last anyone ever saw of her alive. In the early stirrings of dawn a beachcomber found her naked body lifeless in the surf, a gunshot wound in her breast. But an hour later, in the master bedroom of Heather Cottage, the corpse of Jacob Garrovick was discovered, the gun he'd used to murder his niece and then take his own life still clutched in his hand._

_It nearly broke Edmund. He told of a dangerously obsessive man convinced a lock-box of money was hidden in the house, who kept Verity a prisoner, endlessly exhorting her to give up its hiding place, and growing steadily more violent. Edmund's trip had been to try to convince his brother to relinquish Verity to his custody, for her own safety...but he'd failed, and the girl had paid the ultimate price._

_Edmund moved into Heather Cottage, but quickly discovered that his murderous brother hadn't entirely departed. He'd see their face hovering in the dark at night, a gruesome visage so twisted with hatred and malice he couldn't bear to look upon it, and was often driven to room at the inn once more._

_Less than a year after he took residence at Heather Cottage Edmund Garrovick was dead of a heart attack, brought on, it was widely said, by pure fear. Vile Jacob had claimed one last victim from beyond the grave, and whatever secrets Heather Cottage may have held it holds to this day._

_They do say, though, that Verity dances the shoreline still, on brightly moonlit nights, and if you were lucky enough to meet her, she might even tell you all..._

Ian closed the book. “And there you have it.”

Cin's brow furrowed. “It's humbug, all right.”

The man gave a satisfied nod that verged on smug. “Like I said, don't believe a word of it. I'm not saying you didn't see anything, just that it wasn't the ghost of a ruthless killer from more than a century ago.”

“You're right,” Cin agreed, equably. “It wasn't. Jacob Garrovick didn't kill anyone.”

Ian stared. “I'm sorry?”

“Jacob Garrovick was not a killer,” the cat stated, sounding more sure with each syllable.

“It was Edmund,” Hazel added. “ _He_ was the one after Robert's secret, if it even existed at all.”

“How could you...?” Ian nearly spluttered. “ _Why_...?”

“We told you – the Jacob we just saw wasn't 'twisted with hatred and malice'; he was haunted.” Cin's gaze drifted to the stairs.

“And if Jacob didn't murder Robert and Verity,” Hazel reasoned, “then it had to be Edmund. He almost certainly killed Jacob, too, and made it look like suicide. Why? Well, that 'society rake' lifestyle couldn't have been cheap to live, so if he got into debt, that secret stash he believed his brother to be hoarding would be ideal to get him out of it.”

“And _his_ death?” Ian all but demanded, flatly disbelieving.

“That's harder,” the rabbit admitted. “It might have been fear, fear of his brother's ghostly wrath, or he overexerted himself searching for the stash while his creditors closed in.”

“Even if all of that is true, and it's a _big_ if...what can you do about it more than a _hundred years_ later?”

“We can look,” Cin decided. “There may not be a treasure, but there's a chance _something_ 's survived in a cranny somewhere.”

Ian loosed a long, weary sigh. “All right! Knock yourselves out. In the meantime, I'll be in the real world, dealing with bills.” He collected his laptop, turning it on and pointedly ignoring the girls.

Cin sighed softly, nosed his cheek to no reaction, then she and Hazel set off to search the cottage. It took until mid-afternoon, with only a short break for a snack lunch, but they covered every inch, and beyond the odd scrap of yellowed, unreadable paper and the dessicated shell of a shoe they found nothing of interest.

By that point Ian's frustration had faded, and he took pity on the two quietly forlorn figures sitting on the sofa next to him.

“What say,” he suggested, “we all forget our troubles for a while, and play some cards?”

Cin looked at him expressionlessly for a moment, then a smile curved her lips. “All right. We'll make it strip pontoon...unless Hazel wants to play something else...?” Her eyes turned to the rabbit.

The other girl's ears perked inquisitively. “Strip pontoon?”

“Our own fun little variant,” Ian explained. “Lose a hand, lose a piece of clothing. Win a hand, put a piece you've lost back on. First to lose all their clothes loses outright.”

The rabbit giggled. “I can see one small problem with that idea...”

Cin gently cuffed her. “I'll put some clothes on first, you dope. Want to join in, or just watch and laugh as I lose badly again?”

Hazel thought a while, then gave a shy nod. “I'll join in. One question, though – why pontoon?”

“Because neither of us knows how to play poker,” Ian admitted, with a wry grin. “I'll get a deck.”

“And I'll get some clothes to lose!” Cin bounded to her feet.

As cat and man headed up the stairs, the rabbit rubbed her muzzle in thought, eyes distant. They focused on the return of the others, a pack of cards in Ian's hands, Cinna now wearing a red crop top and shorts, a pink shirt loosely over them and slippers on her feet. The man pulled the table the laptop usually rested on to the front of the sofa, and took the stools from the kitchenette. He settled on the couch, and the girls perched on the stools.

“What say we tweak the rules a little, since there are three of us?” He suggested. “Worst hand loses an article of clothing. Matching losing hands, no clothing lost by either player. Matching winning hands, no clothing gained. Agreed?”

The others nodded assent.

Hazel watched his fluid riffle shuffles warily. “I'm starting to see why you always lose, Cin.”

“Last chance to back out,” Ian told her, with a shark-like grin.

She shook her head. “I'm playing.”

Cinna squeezed her shoulder affectionately as Ian dealt out two cards apiece. The rabbit's proved to be an eight of diamonds and an eight of clubs, for a total of sixteen. She quickly decided to play it safe, instead focusing on the cat, who was first to play. As much as they tried to vet their expression all kinds of little flickers and twists occurred, strongly suggesting they had a hand very similar to hers.

“Twist,” Cin requested, not looking as confident as she sounded. Ian dealt her a jack of clubs, and she slumped, pouting and flicking her two original cards to the table – a nine and a six of hearts. “Bust.”

Hazel stuck, which just left the dealer, who turned over a king and an ace of spades, and smirked.

“Pontoon?” Cinna protested, playfully, as she kicked off a slipper. “On your first hand? I call shenanigans.”

“Purely the luck of the draw,” Ian demurred, tucking the used cards on the bottom of the pack and dealing the next hand.

This time Hazel had a four of spades and a three of clubs. Cinna stuck on her cards, not fully hiding a grin, then the rabbit spoke up.

“Twist, please.”

A five of hearts landed close by. Her whiskers twitched minutely.

“Twist.”

An eight of diamonds. A total of twenty.

“Stick.”

Ian turned his cards over; a queen of diamonds and a five of clubs. A long pause while he debated, then he dealt himself another – a five of spades, for twenty. “Stick. Show hands.”

Hazel displayed hers, then had to stifle a giggle at Cinna's aggravated expression, the cat having a jack of hearts and a nine of diamonds. The second slipper was flicked away. The shirt soon followed it, Cin going bust by just a point, while Hazel got seventeen and Ian nineteen. The next round, though, threw up a surprise.

With the aid of an additional card Hazel hit the target of twenty-one, while Ian and Cin stuck with their original hands. When turned over, he proved to have nineteen, and she twenty. The cat preened, while a wholly unperturbed man shed his shirt, baring his near-hairless chest and belly, then passed the deck to the rabbit.

Cinna got cocky, twisting on what proved to be a high hand, and going bust by an impressive seven points. Hazel just edged out Ian, leaving the cat to pull off her crop top and chuck it aside, muttering under her breath. Round six saw Ian coming last again, and the loss of one of his shoes. Round seven was where things got interesting for the rabbit.

The man added one card to his hand, and Cin two, then Hazel flicked hers over – a queen of spades and a seven of hearts. She deliberated for a long time, pretty sure both of the others had built stronger hands than this, and finally decided to take the risk. It didn't pay off, a nine of spades leaving her bust.

As Ian and Cin displayed matching hands of twenty, the rabbit's own went to the buttons of her waistcoat. She hesitated, momentarily, as a faint tremble of apprehension ran through her, but a warm smile from the peaceably topless cat dissipated it. Hazel smoothly shed the top, then passed the deck to Cin and laid her hands on the table, making no attempt to cover her breasts.

The cat admired the soft, shallow mounds with the warm pink points nestled at their summits for a moment. “Pretty,” she complimented.

Hazel's ears tinted slightly, while her smile widened.

Cin's widened, too, when she won the next round, forcing Ian to lose his other shoe. Both his socks went in quick succession, then his belt, and a palpable anticipation was building in the cat. The man won the twelfth round, though, draping his shirt back over his shoulders, taking charge of the deck once more.

Round thirteen proved unlucky for Hazel, the rabbit's caution with a hand of seventeen not working out for her. She surprised herself with how calmly she removed her trousers, sitting back down in just a pair of lace bikini briefs in a light shade of pink. Cinna stared at them in a potent mixture of surprise and delight.

“Never took you for a lace girl,” she laughed, eyes alight.

“They're comfy,” Hazel explained, simply.

“They suit you,” Cin told her, something soft in her voice that made a warmth come to the rabbit's cheeks and ears.

Hazel won the next round with a five-of-a-kind, draping her waistcoat over her shoulders, while Ian lost it, having to shed his shirt again. He lost the next, too, leaving him in just plain grey y-fronts. The ends of Cin's grin practically touched behind her head, but it faltered when she came last in round sixteen, and had to remove her shorts, in contrast to the man getting his trousers back.

Ian's smirk crumbled, too, when he saw that under the shorts the cat was sporting an identical pair of briefs to his.

“Hey!” he spluttered, with a laugh. “Not sure that's in the rules, Cin!”

“They're clothing, aren't they?” The cat riposted, with a smirk of her own. “And you weren't using them.”

“All right, all right,” Ian acquiesced. “But neither will you, soon.”

“You first!”

Round seventeen was lost by Hazel, the other two drawing, waistcoat put aside again; after a little debate, the deal was given to Cin. Round eighteen was lost by Ian, the cat and the rabbit drawing, so he shed his trousers once more, leaving all of them in only their underwear for the nineteenth round.

Cinna dealt it slowly, drawing it out as much as she could, ramping up the tension...which burst for the rabbit when she went bust. Wriggling free of her panties she perched on the stool, warmed in the ears anew as feline eyes ran affectionately over her, their owner slipping her shirt back on, and watched the next round unfold without her.

The tension of round twenty could have been cut with a knife, Cinna and Ian intent on their cards, taking their time, both building hands of four, then when the reveal finally came...

Ian had lost.

“YES!” Cin whooped, leaping from her stool, flinging off her shirt and briefs and dancing in delight. “I actually bloody _won it_!”

Ian feigned fury for precisely seven seconds, then stepped out of his briefs and moved to hug the cat, and kiss her scalp. “It had to happen sooner or later, I guess.”

“Well done,” Hazel congratulated Cinna, with a warm embrace and a nuzzle. “Try not to let it go to your head.”

“Too late!” the cat cackled, pulling the rabbit into the dance. “ I won, I won, I _freaking won_!”

Ian shook his head with a fond smile. “I have to attend to some things over in town. I'll be back for supper, than maybe we can think about watching a movie, all right?”

“All right!” Cin agreed, happily, while Hazel just nodded and laughed.

Only after the man had put the table and stools back, gotten dressed and left did the cat finally settle, taking the rabbit's hands and gazing warmly at her. “You're making my life really difficult, you know?”

“I am?” Hazel's eyes widened in worry.

“I _really_ like Ian,” Cinna explained, tenderly, “but I also _really_ like you, and I'm _really_ not sure what to do about that.”

The rabbit smiled shyly. “I'm just happy you like me.”

“ _Really_ like,” the cat corrected, nudging noses, then a little coyness of her own stole in. “Do you...do you want to groom? I'd be perfectly fine with it if you say...”

“Yes.” Hazel gave a firm nod. “I'd love to.”

Cin beamed, kissing the rabbit's nose. “I'll get the kit.” She rushed off upstairs, returning less than a minute later with a pack of brushes and combs. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

“I'd like to groom you first,” Hazel requested, ears warm.

“All right.” Cin gave the rabbit a brush and a comb, guided them into sitting in the middle of the sofa, then lay on her belly across their legs, arms folded comfortably under her chin. “Don't be shy. I trust you.”

Hazel stared at the lovely cat for a while, eyes glassy, then started to run the brush through their fur in long, smooth strokes from shoulder blades to tail-base; very quickly a purr welled from Cin. Any stubborn tangles were carefully eased with comb and fingers, then the coat was smoothed with caresses of brush and hand.

She covered as much of the cat's flanks as she could, and the backs of their legs to their ankles, and even their tail, right to the tip, taking her time to savour the feel of their velvet coat, and the tactile warmth of the shapely form it swathed. Lastly, she tended to Cin's rear, caressing their cheeks with brush and hand and occasionally comb, and stifling a giggle as the purr grew deeper.

Once done, she nudged the cat, who rolled onto their back, flashing a smile that made her heart skip before closing their eyes and relaxing, the purr unabating. Hazel started grooming at their shoulders, quickly moving south to their breasts. She worked around one then the other, making no attempt to avoid catching the nipples with brush or finger, partly because she didn't see a point, and partly because she loved the little giggly catches in Cin's purrs.

She also didn't avoid the cat's vulva, once she'd crossed their belly to reach it, and the heavier tone to their purr tempted her to linger there a while, but she soon thought better of it. She smoothed the tops and sides of the legs,, then their arms and hands, and last of all, one they'd sat up, carefully groomed their neck and head.

When her hands finally fell still, Hazel was nuzzled lovingly by the cat, and kissed on the bridge of her muzzle.

“I'd almost think you've done this before,” Cin observed, still purring quietly. “That felt _wonderful_.”

“Thank you.” The rabbit's ears reddened. “I worry I went a little far at one point, though.”

“My vulva?” The cat shook her head. “No. Too gentle to get anything serious started, especially since I'm not in the mood. Now, if I'd been in season...” She smirked. “I'd have run off to hide in my room and die slowly of embarrassment.”

Hazel giggled, and stroked Cinna's cheek. “I'm not _that_ innocent, you know. I have seasons, too. I wouldn't be able to help, but I'd certainly understand.”

The cat licked her brow. “Thank you.” Then grinned. “Your turn, cutie bunny! If you'd rather I left certain bits alone, say so now.”

“No limits,” the rabbit answered, licking her nose. “I trust you.”

They switched places, Hazel lying on her front across Cin's legs. With tender care the cat started to groom the length of their back, and was surprised and much amused to hear, faintly, what sounded very much like a purr rising from them. It waxed and waned as she worked across their body, peaking when she groomed their rear and tuft of a tail.

Once they'd rolled over, it peaked again as the cat caressed the fur of their breasts smooth, with barely detectable spikes every time she just happened to feather a nipple. She grinned on discovering their belly was a particularly sensitive spot, especially around the navel, and felt more than heard the shift as she stroked their trim, shallow vulva.

When she was done, and they sat up in her lap, she couldn't begin to resist commenting. “I didn't know rabbits could purr.”

“Tooth purring.” Hazel leaned against her. “Not as loud as a cat's, but just as happy, I can assure you.”

Cin subsided into lying on her back, head pillowed on the sofa's arm, Hazel sinking with her; she ruffled the rabbit's tail and flank. “Good. I feel like dozing awhile. Care to join me?”

“In a moment.” Hazel leant in, pressing a kiss to feline lips, one they responded warmly to. Then she settled atop Cin, head pillowed on the cat's left breast, one hand resting on their right. “Comfy kitty.”

“Comfier bunny.” Cinna let her hands gently drift over the rabbit. “We really have to do this again, sometime.”

Hazel smiled. “Definitely.”

They didn't move again until Ian came home, carrying two big bags of shopping, and even then it was just to lazily wave at him.

He laughed. “My, you two look cosy. Maybe I should just leave you to watch the movie alone, hmm? Make a date of it.”

They exchanged looks, then Cin spoke up. “I think we can make room for one more. No clothes allowed, though.”

“High price,” Ian joked. “Let me think on it while I make supper.”

He only took three more steps toward the kitchenette, though, before freezing on the spot, bags dropping from nerveless fingers, a wheezing gasp escaping him. Cinna and Hazel rushed over to him, looked where he pointed, and saw the gaunt, cadaverous face floating by the bottom of the stairs, heavy with sadness.

Cin clamped an arm round him. “Believe us now?”

Ian nodded, stiffly, beginning to shake. Then the face faded away, and he would have collapsed without the cat and the rabbit. They helped him to the sofa, and sat either side of him, pressing close; he sat with his hands over his face and trembled. When his hands finally dropped from his face, it was drawn and pale.

“I hoped I'd never see one again...”

Cin's voice was soft with sympathy as she nuzzled his cheek. “You've seen a ghost before?”

“When I was a boy.” Ian drew her into his lap with one arm, stroking her hip, resting his chin between her ears; his other arm curled around Hazel. “My family went to stay in a hotel a bit further up the coast one summer. Strange old place made of about three buildings haphazardly cobbled together. Dark, heavy beams, low ceilings, rambling, poorly-lit passages; like something out of a Hammer horror, really.

“There was a big, walled-up inglenook fireplace in my room. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I could hardly manage to look at it most of the time. Every night of the four we stayed there, I woke up at half one in the morning to see someone, the shadow of a woman, standing in front of it. She never moved, just silently watched me, then finally, after what felt like hours, faded slowly away.”

“That sounds awful.” Cin shivered.

“Especially since I couldn't get my parents to believe me. Oh, they'd be sympathetic enough, but always insisted it was just a nightmare, a figment of my imagination. I tried to convince myself of that, over the years, tried to bury that image as deep as I could, but, after seeing that face...” He closed his eyes, and clasped the others just a little closer.

“You're not alone,” Cinna told him, pressing her face to his. “And you _know_ we believe you.”

Ian drew a long breath, then kissed the cat on the muzzle, and Hazel on the bridge of her muzzle. “Thank you.” He stared thoughtfully at the rabbit. “You've come a long way in a few hours, you know.”

“The Cin effect.” Hazel petted the cat's back. “I know she'll sleep with you tonight, and if you want me to as well, I won't hesitate.”

“I think I'd like that.” Ian smiled, stroking her flank, his eyes drifting to the bottom of the stairs. “You know, I've just had a really random idea; have you two heard of priest holes?”

Hazel gave a nod. “Places for Catholic priests to hide in the sixteenth century, to try and escape persecution. You think there's one here?”

“Not as such; this isn't a grand old Catholic mansion. If you wanted to hide something valuable, though, a priest hole would be a great model for crafting a secret place, and there was one in a staircase...”

Two sets of furry ears flicked, then Cin spoke up. “Might as well see.”

“Okay, then. Follow me, and lend me your heightened hearing.”

Ian led the way across to the stairs. He started walking up and down them, while the cat and the rabbit perked their ears and listened.

After about half a dozen passes, the latter pointed to a step six up the spiral. “That one sounds a little different.”

“Agreed,” Cinna concurred. “Not the same hollowness as the others.”

“All right.” Ian felt around it. “It feels a little different, too; like it's not glued down like the others.” He took hold of the edge, and tried to pull it upwards; it gave slightly. “Oh-hoh!”

Three more tugs and the whole top of the step came free, pivoting up on internal, rusted hinges. Three heads craned to see inside, finding a deep, fairly narrow space choked with cobwebs. At the bottom rested a small, battered metal box, the lock broken. Hazel and Cinna held the step open, while Ian recovered the box.

After they closed the step, he set the box on top, and carefully eased it open. It held a trio of well-worn, leather-bound books and a stack of faded monochrome photographs.

“Not what Edmund would call treasure,” Ian observed, “but valuable nevertheless. You two go through it all – _gently_ – while I pull together a little supper, all right?”

“All right.” Cin licked his nose.

He gathered the fallen groceries and headed to the kitchenette, while cat and rabbit delicately took out a book apiece. They turned out to be journals, written by Robert Garrovick, sporadically detailing his life at Heather Cottage. The third book was also a journal, with a scattering of entries penned by Jacob. The contents of all were read by both cat and rabbit, and discussed at length.

The photos were mostly of Verity, over of the course of several years, growing from a strangely pretty girl of about nine to a strangely lovely young woman of about sixteen. In two thirds of them she was playing outside somewhere, in woodlands, a stream, or the beach, many were at home, and a few were with either Robert or Jacob. More often than not she was openly nude, including in one with both her father and her uncle, the three sharing a warm embrace. A handful were of the just the men, alone or together, and it was remarkable how different Jacob looked when he smiled.

They took a few along when Ian called for supper, and used them to help tell the true story of the Garrovicks.

“It turns out,” Cin narrated, “that Edmund Garrovick wasn't quite the high-flyer he made himself out to be. In fact, he was a filing clerk, and frequently struggled, on his modest wage, to maintain his fiction. That led him to taking a loan with a seriously dubious character; inevitably, it quickly proved more trouble than it was worth.”

“Which was why,” Hazel continued, “he went to his brother, Robert, intending to wheedle money out of them to help pay off the debt. He was scuppered when Jacob showed up, called in by Robert, but caught wind of the rumours and a glimpse of Robert's lock-box. It was then, it seems, he decided to take a more...aggressive approach.”

Cin took over again. “Knowing his brother enjoyed a glass of wine, he bought a cheap bottle, laced it with a poison of some kind, then gave it to Robert. Then he returned home, to wait until his brother drank the wine, and he could swoop in to take charge of the house and his niece, and get his hands on the hidden money.”

“Unfortunately for him, Jacob got there first,” Hazel related. “He was barred from the house, and left to stew, and all the while his creditor grew more impatient. Finally, in desperation, he went back, and tried to get his brother to help, but they stone-walled him. It culminated, of course, on the night of the twelfth.”

“Unsurprisingly, there's no account of what happened that night,” Cin explained, “but we can make a good guess. Edmund has to have been pushed over the edge in that argument, and that's most likely when he made the wild plan to frame Jacob for a murder-suicide. He stole his brother's gun, waited in the inn for a couple of hours, then headed out to find Verity.”

Hazel finished the tale. “Once he'd killed her, he waited in his hotel room again, until the villagers had all retired, then sneaked back to the cottage. There, he murdered Jacob, and left the incriminating gun in their hand. He was banking on people hating Jacob too much to ever question the story he told to sell his lie, and clearly, if your book is any guide, no-one ever did.”

“Until now.” Ian shook his head in slow wonder. “Since I doubt he was in any way racked with guilt over his crimes, I'm assuming it was the stress of never finding Jacob's 'treasure' that did him in. Either that, or his creditor ran out of patience.”

“The only question now,” Cinna noted, “is what do we do with all this stuff? Who can we tell?”

“I'll look into it,” Ian decided. “If there's any chance of clearing Jacob's name we should take it. For the moment, though, we'll put everything back in the priest-hole. It's kept all those things safe for more than a century; it can keep them safe a bit longer. Now, if we're done eating, we need to choose a movie. Something light and simple, I think, after all we've been through today.”

Once Ian had washed up and shed his clothes, and the rabbit and the cat had affectionately bickered their way to a decision, they ended up watching two, cuddled tightly together on the couch. When the films were finally over, and they reluctantly separated and rose, and started for the stairs and bed, they briefly saw a face floating before them, but this time something had changed.

Jacob Garrovick was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The puzzle box is as accurate to real ones as I could make it. Rabbits really do tooth purr, and it's adorable. The 'priest hole' is based on a real one at Harvington Hall.


	7. Cin in Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cin comes into season, and Ian helps her cope with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative, less detailed version available in several other places. This is explicit but not graphic, an attempt at creating an erotic, intimate scene that doesn't shy away from detail, but never becomes pornographic in that regard or in tone. Have I succeeded? You decide.

Ian knew something was wrong. He also had a pretty good idea what was wrong. The difficulty lay in getting Cinnamon to admit it. The cat had been unusually distant all day, even faintly uncomfortable, and he swore she'd physically startled away from him more than once. There was also something restless, possibly even needy, about her.

He tried several times to broach the subject, but she either clumsily evaded it, or just ignored him. As the day wore on frustration began to creep into her manner, which steadily built, until, just a moment ago, the cat lost her temper. She snapped at Ian when he made one more attempt to address the problem, and now stood facing away from him, breath heavy and hands clenched.

Ian settled on the sofa, and decided to just be plain.

“You're in season,” he stated, simply.

After a moment, Cinna gave a stiff nod. “And I hate it.”

“It's nothing to be ashamed of, Cin.”

“It...it is when it's focused on _you_.” This came in a whisper, so faint he barely heard it.

“Oh, Cin.” Ian couldn't help chuckling a little. “I don't mind. Hell, I'm flattered by it.”

She turned, just enough to look at him. “But it isn't fair on you.”

“Why not?”

“Because...” Cinna sighed, slumping. “You can't do what I want you to do. You can't...help me...and it'd be wrong to ask. It-it might even be _wrong_ , full stop.”

Ian didn't reply, just smiled softly and held his hand out to her. Many seconds ticked by then, slowly, the cat turned fully, and walked closer, and lightly took his hand.

The man lightly squeezed it, smile spreading. “Cin, if you asked me to help you deal with your season, I wouldn't hesitate to say yes.”

Her jaw loosened, and her ears stiffened. “What...?”

“If you're concerned about the 'species difference', don't be,” he told her, tenderly. “You're a person, capable of making your own decisions and certainly of giving informed consent; that you happen to have fur and a tail is inconsequential, and if the law's still struggling to get to grips with that, well, that's their problem.” His smile grew teasing in an affectionate way. “And just because I have no urges of my own doesn't mean I can't help someone I love dearly deal with theirs. I mean, I do have fingers, after all...” He waved them gently, smile a little wicked.

Cin giggled, tension melting into playfulness. She leaned in to gently nose his cheek. “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really sure?”

“Yes.”

“Really, really sure?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Really, really, really...”

“Cin.” Ian tapped her nose. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Well, if you insist,” the cat relented, a shine in her eyes, now. “But I take no responsibility for any...accidents...”

“We've tissues right there, Cin.” Ian nodded to the box sitting on the laptop table.

“Oh.” Feline ears tinted faintly. “Good. Shall we...?”

Ian chuckled, settling back into the corner of the sofa, loosely crossing his legs. The cat sat in the space they made, her legs draping over his, and leant back against him, head nestling under his chin. There was a sensuous grace to her movements, now, and a very particular kind of warmth filled her smile.

The man kissed her between the ears, one of his hands stroking over her belly, from flank to flank; she purred richly. The other hand traced up her thigh to her hip, and she sighed, eyes closing. The hand on her stomach stroked north, to just brush the undersides of her breasts, and the sighs and the purrs deepened.

Both of his hands then cradled her mammaries, very gently squeezing them, the firm nipples pressing into his palms, and she actually let out a faint croon. More followed as Ian ever-so-lightly massaged the cat's breasts, rolling and kneading them, and they peaked when he caressed her nipples with his thumbs.

He paused, then, hands stilling over her mammaries, and watched as her eyes cracked open. “How am I doing so far?”

“Wonderfully,” Cinna purred. “You'd make a fine masseuse, I think. If I weren't so worked up I'd be half-asleep by now.”

“Then we'll have to do this when you aren't,” Ian decided. “Want me to move on, or linger here a little longer?”

“Linger,” Cin asked, “but not _too_ long.”

Ian resumed giving her breasts tender attention, keeping his touch as light as a summer breeze, until a heavier tone began stealing into her breathing. He stopped again, letting her settle, feeling her body relax, and watching for any signs of discomfort or doubt. Finding none at all, one of his hands sought out one of hers, entwining their fingers, while the other drifted south.

Cin began to tense, subtly, as it passed her navel, and her back arched minutely as it slipped between her thighs. Ian's fingers slid down over her vulva to lightly cup it, and another croon rose from her. He started exploring the contours of her outer lips, a rippling caress, and she gave a murmuring little moan.

Still watching her closely, Ian let one finger drift along the seam of her vulva, then tentatively nudged into the midpoint of it. Cin bit her lip, a keener croon escaping her as her back lifted slightly higher. The man's digit probed the join twice more, just as carefully, then finally began to ease between her lips.

The cat's breathing tightened up more, grew shorter and sharper, the deeper the finger went, and her mouth started to gape a little. Ian felt a dangerous tremor run through her as his digit sank in fully, so he let it fall motionless even as it was squeezed by snug warmth, and waited for her to settle again. It took a fair while.

“There's a joke...about kitties...in here somewhere,” Cin giggled, eyes dancing, chest fluttering slightly, “but I can't think of it...right now...”

Ian chuckled, and kissed her just behind one ear. “Still all right?”

“Peachy.” The cat twisted and tilted her head to look at him, fluttering her eyelids coquettishly. “For someone with no interest in this kind of thing, you sure know how to treat a girl...”

The man just smiled, pressed his mouth to her muzzle, then began to gently flex the finger nestled in her passage. Letting out a whimpering croon Cin's back arched, her eyes rolled halfway up, her tail curled, the hand holding his squeezed it tighter, and the other gripped the arm of the sofa, claws just dimpling the fabric.

Ian did his best to make it last, to be slow and soft, keeping the cat at a level of whispering mewls and subtle trembles, letting her savour the moment as long as he could. Eventually, though, her breath quickened and her back lifted higher and the tremble grew and her hands gripped tighter still and her croons became keener, and he went with it.

The cat grabbed a handful of tissues and clamped them to her vulva, then one last, fuller flex of the finger nestled so deep inside it and she was stiffening up completely. She mewled so keenly, muzzle wide, and her body shivered as it arched taut, and her eyes flickered right back in their sockets, and her hand squeezed Ian's almost enough to hurt, and then she sagged, panting, chest heaving, eyes closed.

Ian kissed her forehead. “You good there, Cin?”

She laughed, dazedly, and brushed a purring kiss across his lips. “Best I've been all day.”

“Good. Edgy Cin is no fun at all.”

Unwilling to release the hand she held, or the tissues still pressed to her vulva, the cat settled for bumping his head with hers. “Well, if you hadn't been so damned insistent...”

“You wouldn't be lolling in hazy bliss, right now.”

“Touché.” Cinna forced herself to check the tissues, and was relieved to see hardly a spot of damp; she chucked it at the waste basket across the room, and it bounced off the rim. “Oops.” Her hand then laid over his on her vulva, keeping his finger snugly within. “So...what does this make us, now?”

Ian mused. “Us, just...more so. Why worry about a label?”

“True.” Cin nodded, relaxing completely into his embrace. “Whatever we have, it certainly works for me.” Her nose twitched, then she gazed curiously up at him. “I have to ask: how _does_ someone with no interest in this kind of thing get so good at it?”

“Well, I first had to figure out I wasn't interested, and that required a little...experimenting.” Ian's tone was mildly nostalgic. “I pretty quickly realised I was getting little to nothing out of the experiences, but I had to be sure my partner enjoyed them, so...”

“Too nice for your own good, that's your problem.” Cin licked the man on the cheek. “Good choice for my first time, that's for sure.”

Ian stiffened. “First time?”

“With someone else, yes.”

“Oh, Cin.” Ian's voice caught. “If I've...”

“I wanted my first time, sappy as I can be, to be with someone special to me.” The smile she gave him glowed. “And it was. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Cin.” He kissed her, long and soft. “My pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please refrain from crude comments. Thank you.


	8. Meet the Furries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cin attends a furmeet with Leslie/Lapis and Jan, making new friends, and having fun. The only fly in the ointment is Eric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any resemblance to real fursonas is entirely coincidental.

Cinnamon paced anxiously, wringing her paws, frequently glancing at the front door. Her fur was groomed to a sheen, and she wore a long, dark green halter top and a matching skirt that reached just below her knees. Ian, working on his laptop, looked on in a blend of amusement and sympathy.

When a knock sounded at the door she physically jumped two inches into the air, tail stiffening, then gathered herself and hurried to answer it. She beamed at the sight of Leslie, hugging them.

“Give me a moment to get my coat and lead.” She gestured towards the sofa. “This is Ian, my owner. Ian, this is Leslie, aka Lapis.”

Ian stood, and walked over, offering a hand. “Delighted! Cin's said a lot of nice things about you.”

Leslie shook it, smiling self-consciously. “Oh, I'm just a goof who likes to dress up as a giant mouse. Thank you for letting us take Cin to the Meet. I promise we won't let her get into any trouble.”

Ian smirked fondly at the cat, who now had a raincoat pulled over her shoulders and her lead clipped to her collar. “You'll have a job on.”

Cin batted his arm. “I'll be a model of good behaviour, and be back in time for supper.”

“That's my girl.” Ian ruffled her ears, then stooped to hug her warmly and swap kisses. “Have fun.”

Waving goodbye, Cin accompanied Leslie outside, the young woman holding her lead. In the lane beyond the gate a modest hatchback was parked, Jan at the wheel; he waved cheerfully. Leslie directed the cat to sit in the back, alongside a pair of bulky cases, then she slipped into the front passenger seat.

“You'll love the meet, Cin!” she gushed, buckling up. “So many great people, and some _gorgeous_ suits!”

“Sounds great.” Cin clicked her own belt into place, the butterflies in her stomach picking up their pace a little. “Any other AnthroPets?”

“Not that we know of, but never say never,” Leslie replied, as the car got moving. Her smile faded slightly. “I just hope Eric doesn't show.”

“Even if he does, we'll cope,” Jan assured her. “How much trouble can he stir up in a room full of people?”

“True. And even if he does, he'll be out on his ear pretty quickly.” The smile returned fill force. “We'll show Cin a good time or die trying!”

The cat laughed. “Don't go to such extremes on my account. I'll call it a success if I can go more than an hour without humiliating myself.”

“You'd have to go some to top my first meet,” Jan told her. “I got lost, went into the wrong bar – twice – then when I did finally find the right one – an hour late – I blundered right into the meet's main organiser, almost knocking them to the floor. I stepped on tails, I knocked a drink over; I was a bumbling, nervous mess. Worst of all, I stumbled into a suiter, and somehow managed to grab their breast _and_ very nearly pull their head off.” He sighed, then his voice softened. “And yet, even after all that, the group accepted me. The next meet went like a dream.”

“Yeah that's...pretty bad.” Cinna was sympathetic, but couldn't help a twinge of amusement. “How was your first time, Leslie?”

“Awkward.” The young woman gave a wry grin. “I just sat in a corner and didn't talk for most of it. I plucked up the courage to speak at the next one, though, and never looked back. Don't be afraid to take your time getting used to things, all right?”

Cin nodded. “Any potential problems to be aware of, Eric aside?”

“Well, some people can get a little rambunctious,” Jan admitted. “And conversations can sometimes turn to the more...explicit...art many in the fandom make, but never without warning. You don't have to see it or talk about it if you don't want to.”

“Okay. Guess that means no kids'll be there?”

“No. The bar we meet at doesn't allow anyone under sixteen.” Leslie explained. “Does allow accompanied AnthroPets, though.”

“I'd hope so, or this'd be a wasted trip!” Cin smirked. “How long until we get there?”

“Twenty minutes, traffic willing,” Jan estimated.

“All right.” Cinna passed the rest of the trip in silence, all manner of scenarios playing through her head, butterflies stirring sporadically in her stomach. They grew livelier when, right on Jan's estimate, the car pulled into a multi-storey park close to the centre of the town. The cat tried to swallow them as she left the car, but with little success.

“It's just a short walk from here,” Jan told her, helping Leslie take out the two cases.

Carrying one each, the young woman holding Cin's lead, they led her out of the car park, along one fairly busy street, then into another, not quite so active one. A short way down it, just before an old, red-brick railway arch spanned the road, was a bar named 'Off The Rails'. That it was their destination was left beyond doubt by the giant orange-furred cat of full figure and generous curves standing outside of it, clutching a plush fish and waving at passers-by.

Cin's eyes bugged. “They look like _me_! Did you...” The barely held in laughter of the others was all the evidence she needed. “You knew.”

“Just wanted to see your reaction!” Leslie's eyes were bright; raising her voice, she called to the other cat. “Hey, Ginger! We've found your long-lost twin!”

The big feline span, reared back comically, then, paws going to their muzzle, sank to one knee. Finally they spread their arms wide.

Cinna giggled and, encouraged by Leslie, stepped forward to embrace Ginger. The hug she got in response was effusive, the other cat rocking her from side-to-side and purring loudly, her face smothered by their huge cushion breasts. They released her the instant she started easing back, then politely offered the plush fish. She took it, turned it over in her hands, then, a wicked glint in her eyes, hit their muzzle with it.

Ginger started, then shook with silent laughter, snatched the fish back and used it to bop Cin repeatedly between the ears. The smaller cat's hands swiped at it, trying to knock it away, then seized it and threw it behind her, to be caught be a beaming Leslie. Finally, the two felines batted at each other in a thoroughly kittenish play-fight, Cinna giggling the entire time.

“All right; break it up!” a strong female voice ordered; it belonged to a tall, dark-skinned lady in her mid-twenties with a reptilian tail attached to the back of her her belt, whose attempt at a serious demeanour was undermined by her twitching mouth. “This is a no-fighting zone.”

Both cats desisted, hanging their heads in shame.

“That's better.” She smiled a particularly bright smile, then gave hugs to Leslie and Jan. “Great to see you again.” Her attention moved to the smaller of the two orange cats. “So _this_ is the famous Cin.”

“What have you two been saying about me?” Cinna asked, raising an eye ridge.

“Just that you're the loveliest feline I ever did meet,” Leslie's tone was syrupy sweet, and she petted the smaller cat's head.

Ginger sagged, chin dropping to their chest, then started to pad sadly away, paws clasped together.

Leslie chased after them. “I didn't mean you weren't lovely too!”

“Oh, Leslie.” The dark-skinned lady chuckled, then offered a hand to Cinna. “Call me Verity. I'm one of the meet organisers.”

The cat shook it. “Pleasure.”

Verity ushered her deeper into the bar, Jan following close. Towards the back, a little separate from everything else, was a cluster of tables and a screened off area. Populating it were about three dozen people, most sporting tails, ears, or both, a few in partial or full fursuit. The air was filled with lively chatter, and the tables were littered with drinks, snack food, tablets, phones and sheets of paper.

“Guys!” Verity called out. “The guest of honour has arrived!”

All eyes turned to the cat. Butterflies flurrying back to life she waved awkwardly, ears sinking. “H-hi.”

To her intense relief there was no mass surging forward, just a couple of people getting up to approach with beaming smiles, while greetings rose loud and excited. She returned them, shyly, and allowed herself to be escorted to a spare seat. Jan and Verity joined her, as did Leslie a moment later.

“Made up with Ginger?” Jan asked.

“Promised them a chin scratch later,” Leslie responded; she looked to Verity. “How's the campaign going?”

“Campaign?” Cin's ears canted.

“D and D,” Verity clarified. “And it's getting exciting. Chasing treasure in beholder-haunted caverns. I play a kobold druid, who's actually, in a different form, my fursona, as well, hence the tail.”

“I don't know much of D and D,” Cin admitted. “But I'm pretty certain kobolds are enemies...”

“In the core game, yes.” Verity smiled. “But there are expansions that have them as playable races. Besides, much of the fun of the game is putting your own spin on it. Being a furry's the same.” She reached for a large bag behind her, pulling out a tablet. “Want to see her?”

“Please!” Cinna's nerves were fading fast.

Verity brought up an image of a pale green reptile girl with small curls of horns and long, dark green robes; she had a rugged little figure, and was clutching a staff that had a luminous blue stone held in fingers of wood at its summit. “Meet Sheavah Spellscale, level six druid, doughty adventurer and passable lute player.”

“She's lovely,” Cin complimented. “And that's wonderful art.”

“Thank you.” Jan inclined his head.

The cat's snapped to him. “Wait – _you_ drew this?”

“Guilty as charged. Done a few pieces of that character, actually. Fun girl to draw.”

“Here's a favourite.” Verity swiped to a new picture, of a Sheavah with a more shapely form and her robes in ashes around her feet, huddled up and covering as much of her nude body as she could with her arms while grinning sheepishly, cheeks bright. “A memorable moment from early in the campaign, as wonderfully captured by dear Jan. I decided to apply fire protection but wasn't careful enough in my wording, and our mischief-maker of a DM took the opportunity and ran with it.”

Cinna giggled. “I hope it didn't happen anywhere _too_ awkward...”

“Oh, no, no; just right in the middle of a pitched battle with the odds heavily against us.” Verity flashed a lop-sided grin. “Never been so glad I always carry spare robes.”

“I bet!” Cin was completely relaxed, now. “Not entirely sure that was fair of your DM, mind.”

“Oh, he made it up to us with particularly good loot. That's where I got my staff.”

“Good.” The cat studied the picture closer. “Am I right in thinking this is Sheavah the fursona, and the first was her in the game?”

Verity nodded. “You are. Game Sheavah only lost her robes once, but it's become something of a running joke with fursona her.” She scrolled through a series of images of the kobold by four different artists, each time having lost their robes in some comical fashion; their demeanour shifted from coy embarrassment to more frustrated than embarrassed to long-suffering weariness. “All right, a few people are annoyed they never get to really _see_ her, but...” She smirked. “They can go hang.”

“Safe For Work only, I guess?” Cin surmised.

“Well, not entirely,” Verity admitted. “I do have an artist, the only one I trust to do it, working on a nude pin-up of her at the moment, but it's not for public release, and I am debating...other things...”

“Other things?” A young man with smart, dark brown hair, low-rider jeans, a dark t-shirt emblazoned with a wickedly-grinning hyena, and a long, plush black-and-gold tail, dragged a chair over and lounged in it, a lazy smirk on his fairly handsome face. “Do tell.”

Everyone else at the table stiffened up, Cin's tail starting to lash.

“None of your business, Eric.” Verity crossed her arms.

“Oh, come now,” he wheedled. “You can't leave me hanging like that, Verry. You know I've long wanted to play with that cute kobold 'sona of yours. Maybe we could come to an arrangement?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not a chance. And don't call me Verry.”

“Sure about that? I mean, it's not like you can get _Jan_ to draw you up some tasty yiff, now is it? I've tried to tempt him to it for ages, and he just won't bite.”

“I've no interest in drawing the kind of stuff you do, Eric,” Jan stated, firmly, nearly glaring at the other man, and taking hold of a subdued Leslie's hand. “Why can't you understand that?”

“What I can't understand,” Eric responded, undaunted, “is what kind of self-respecting furry artist _doesn't_ draw porn. All the most popular artists do. I've got five times the watchers you have, after all. If I felt like it I could probably live off my art. You can't.”

Jan sighed. “I'm happy where I am. Please respect that.”

“Respect?” Eric snorted. “Where's the 'respect' in being pilloried for 'bringing the fandom into disrepute', huh? If anybody's 'bringing the fandom into disrepute' it's those _idiots_ who can't accept what I _choose_ to draw, and have to keep trying to change it to fit their narrow idea of what the fandom should be.”

“Hypocrisy,” drawled Cin, “thy name is Eric.”

The man's smirk fell from his face, and he directed a cold glare at the cat; then his manner abruptly softened, verging on ingratiating. “Good point; well made,” he acquiesced. “You're certainly astute. I wonder...I wonder if you'd agree to help me with something?”

“What?” the cat asked, guardedly.

“A comic I'm working on, about an AnthroPet and their owner. If you could help me ensure accuracy I'd be indebted to you.”

“Careful, Cin,” Leslie warned. “There'll be a catch. There always is. I learned that the hard way.”

“I'm sorry for ditching you the other day,” Eric apologised, sounding sincere. “Something came up, but that's no excuse.”

Leslie was unmoved. “Something always comes up. Luckily, I have a much more reliable handler, now.” She squeezed Jan's hand.

Something hard flashed in Eric's eyes, but only for an instant. His face was politely enquiring as he turned back to Cin. “Well?”

Curiosity got the better of the cat. “Ensure accuracy... _how_ , exactly?”

“Well, make sure I've gotten the master-pet dynamic correct, that the pet behaves as a pet would, that all the terminology's right, and, most importantly, that I get across _exactly_ what it's like when a master and an AnthroPet have sex.”

Cin choked. “What,” she ground out, tail lashing violently, “makes you think my _owner_ and I have had sex?”

Eric's demeanour turned a little smug. “You're not denying it. Care to share? In the interests of accuracy.”

“No,” the cat spat, glowering, teeth baring. “I don't.”

“Why not?” Eric pressed. “There's nothing to be ashamed of, surely, unless...unless it's illegal? Against the law? _Bestiality_?”

Cin started to hiss, ears flat back.

“Or maybe,” Eric continued, oblivious, “you like it _really_ kinky. Whips and stuff, or maybe...”

The cat lunged, only to be held back by Leslie and Jan.

“ _Eric_.” Verity's voice was thunder. “Stop talking, _right now_ , or I'll have to ask you to leave.”

The man stared steadily at her, then sneered and stood. “Don't worry; I'll show myself out.” His smirking gaze lingered on Cin. “We'll pick up this conversation another time.”

In unhurried fashion he collected a tablet, a backpack and a coat from another table, then sauntered out of the bar, whistling a tune.

Leslie laid a hand on Cinna's shoulder. “I...I'm _so_ sorry...”

“Not your fault,” the cat assured them, taking controlled breaths.

“I knew Eric could be tactless, but...” Verity shook her head. “I really hope this hasn't soured your view of the fandom.”

“No.” Cin's ears were lifting, slowly. “Just of Eric.”

“Good.” Jan sighed, rubbing his temple. “True, we're far from perfect, and we can be our own worst enemies sometimes, but...”

“But that shouldn't eclipse all the good things.” Cin smiled at all three of them. “Like you. Thank you.” She exhaled, long and slow. “I'm sorry for reacting so violently, but...sensitive subject...”

“Of course,” Verity sympathised. “Much too personal to share.”

“With him, definitely.” Cinna smoothed the fur of her neck. “I think I owe you some explanation, though. Ian, my owner, and I did share, a little while ago, a very intimate moment. I was in season, and he was kind enough to help me through it. I treasure the experience, deeply, and the very idea of Eric exploiting it...” She shivered, then gave a wry little chuckle. “At the very least I now know _exactly_ why you won't let him draw Sheavah, Verity.”

“I've even more reason not to, now. Besides, if I do decide to get an erotic piece of her, I've a much better candidate in mind.”

“Who?” Leslie wondered.

Jan raised his hand, smiling.

“You?” Leslie blinked. “I didn't think you...”

“I said I had no interest in drawing the kind of stuff Eric does. I _didn't_ say I had no interest in erotica. There _is_ a difference. Besides, who do you think drew the pin-up of Sheavah?”

“Of course.” Leslie grinned. “It's all in the details.”

“Or, indeed, lack thereof. I'll show you the couple of pieces I've done later, if you like.”

“All right,” Leslie agreed.

Verity's eyes were wide. “Wait – _drew_?”

Jan's eyes sparkled. “Check the shared commission folder.”

Gasping, fingers fumbling in her excitement, Verity loaded the folder on her tablet. A visible quiver ran through her at the sight of a brand new thumbnail. She lifted the tablet, selected the file, then the shiver grew, and her mouth fell open, and moisture pricked the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Jan...she's _beautiful_...”

“Thank you.” He looked emotional, too.

“Can we...?” Leslie asked, agog with curiosity. Cin's ears were keen.

“Since you're all friends.” Verity turned the tablet round, to reveal her kobold fursona standing simply nude, one leg bent at the knee so the foot rested on just the toes a short way back from the other one, about which their tail loosely curled; their hands were folded neatly behind their back, and their head tilted slightly down with a shy little smile.

“Oh, that's lovely!” Leslie breathed. “You've outdone yourself, Jan!”

The man's cheeks coloured. “She's a wonderful subject. Thank you for trusting me.”

“Trust well placed. “Verity turned the tablet back round, and gazed at the image some more, enraptured.

Cinna smiled at Jan. “If _you_ ever wanted to make an AnthroPet comic I wouldn't have any issues helping.”

“Funnily enough, I _have_ been trying to create an AnthroPet character, recently,” the man revealed. “Not having much luck, though. Your help would be invaluable, no argument.” He solemnly held up one hand. “I _swear_ I won't ask any questions about your sex life.”

Cinna laughed. “Pretty sure one brief moment doesn't count as a 'sex life'. And don't take me for some kind of 'ideal Anthropet'; as Ian will vouch, I'm anything but. I do try to keep up with A-Pet things, though.”

“So,” Leslie posited, “you'd know if someone's planning or working to create AnthroPets with digitigrade legs, for example?”

“There _is_ a group working on that,” Cinna informed him. “Proving a little tricky, though. Balance issues.” She focused back on Jan. “Is there anything in particular you need help with?”

“He nodded. “How strong your senses are, for a start. As strong as a, for want of a better word, normal animal, or not? Some clear anatomy reference would be very useful, too.”

“Ah, OK.” Cin's gaze grew thoughtful, drifting to the screened-off area behind them. “I wonder...”

Verity twisted round to follow her gaze, then aimed a quizzical look at the cat. “Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?”

“That's for suiters to change in private, right?” the cat asked.

“Yes.”

“So no-one would see us.”

“Most likely not, no.”

“And is anyone in there right now?”

Verity looked around. “No.” She frowned. “I'll admit I'm curious, but I'm _really_ not sure this is a good idea. If one of the bar staff sees...”

“It'll just be for a few seconds,” Cin assured her. “So Jan can take some reference pictures. Someone keeps watch, and we should be fine.”

“You're _serious_ about this?” Jan was dumbstruck.

The cat nodded. “If we're gonna do it, better do it now.”

“I'll bring Lapis,” Leslie grabbed the cases. “As cover.”

“Good thinking.” Cin led the way to the screened-off area. Once she, Leslie and Jan were inside, and an anxious Verity was casually lingering at the entrance, on guard, the cat quickly got undressed, then stood in a simple, straight pose with her arms at her sides. “Go.”

Jan used his phone to take a picture, then a second when she turned side on, and finally a third when she presented her back. Cinna pulled her clothes back on, and Verity heaved a big sigh of relief. Once they'd stepped away, Leslie opened her cases, and started to put on Lapis, a lengthy, involved process that needed a little help from Jan.

Finally, though, a giant blue mouse stood before them. “You three talk anatomy a while,” she instructed. “I owe Ginger a chin scratch.”

The cheerful rodent ambled off to find the big cat, while the smaller one, Jan and Verity returned to their table.

The man pored over the photos. “How curious. I wonder why they went so human-like for the most part, yet kept the multiple nipples?”

“Multiple nipples?” Verity leaned in. “Oh. That _is_ curious.”

Cin shrugged. “Our weird scientists were _especially_ weird. Works for me, though.”

“Oh, I'm not criticising!” Jan assured her. “It _does_ work for you. Do all physically female AnthroPets have them?”

“As far as I know. I believe male dogs still have baculum, too.”

“Are any other species being worked on?” Verity wanted to know.

Cinna checked them off on her fingers. “Ferrets, rats, and mice.”

“Mice?” Jan cocked his head. “That seems...ambitious.”

Cin shook hers. “Apparently, once they'd cracked the process for one animal, it wasn't too hard to apply it to others. Well, unless they have hooves. Or feathers.”

“What about scales?” Verity wondered.

“Lizards, likely. Snakes, nearly impossible. I could go into more detail about what's planned, but _my_ eyes would glaze over, let alone yours.”

“Curiosity demands I at least try to listen,” Jan stated, laying down his phone.

“Don't say I didn't warn you. I'll start with the colour experiments...”

When Lapis ambled up to the table, the best part of an hour later, the three of them were deep in a conversation that set the mouse's head to spinning.

“Should we go on the walk without you?” she asked.

“The walk!” Verity sprang to her feet. “Can't believe I forgot! Let me get into character, then we'll head out.” She grabbed her bag, hurrying to the changing area.

“Character?” The cat wondered. “Wait, she has a _suit_ of Sheavah?”

“Partial. It's pretty cool.”

Cin saw for herself a couple of minutes later when Verity came out of the changing space as the kobold, wearing large, scaled paws and feet and a head that looked impressively like the art, complete with curling horns and a bright smile. She even moved differently, almost floating across the room.

“Want to be my handler, Cinna?” she asked, her voice softer and just a little higher.

“Happy to!” the cat answered. “Any particular rules?”

“No touching the horns.” Sheavah indicated one. “They're magnetic, and the last thing I need is somebody running off with one.”

“Understood.”

The kobold moved to the front of a crowd of a dozen and a half furs, half in partial or full suit, and raised her voice. “Everybody ready? Got handlers, water and props?”

A chorus of confirmations.

“We'll follow the usual route,” she instructed, “but since we can't rely on the weather to hold forever, try your best to keep up a good pace. I want to be back here within three quarters of an hour, okay?”

“Okay,” came the massed response.

Sheavah's gaze locked on a certain large orange cat. “And if you don't take off that suit when we get back, Ginger, we'll peel you out of it.”

They held their paws up meekly.

“Right.” The kobold clapped hers. “Follow me!”

The route was a short and simple loop around the very centre of the town, keeping as much as possible to the pedestrianised areas, whilst only passing along a brief section of the main, busy through road. The group only really lingered in the octagon, and most of the interactions were very positive, Cinna only having to deter someone from touching Sheavah's horns once. She also met the wide-eyed girl again, learning her name was Violet, and posing with her, Sheavah, Lapis, Ginger and Jan for a lively picture.

As they neared the bar once more, only slightly behind the schedule, Cin and Sheavah were at the back, ensuring everyone was still present and correct. The cat was separated from the kobold by a thick knot of people who refused to accommodate them, just as they were passing a narrow side-road, and before she could get back to Sheavah a hand latched onto her wrist and pulled her sharply into the alley.

Another clamped over her snout, and she, struggling enough to shed fur and leave scratches in walls and pavements, was dragged roughly and rapidly round corners, along two further, tighter alleys and inside a long-disused yard, where she was pinned to a wall by an arm across her shoulders and found herself staring into the leering face of Eric.

“Well, isn't this a stroke of luck!” he laughed. “Glad I decided to stick around. Now, I do believe we have some unfinished business.”

“Piss off,” Cin spat, struggling, ears flat back.

“Swear and strain all you like, _kitty_ ,” Eric sneered. “No-one's going to find you, no-one's going to hear and come running, no-one's going to interrupt us.” He leaned closer, expression darkening. “So I can take all the time I like to find out what I want to know. _Hands on_.”

Driven by a rush of panic Cin's feet flailed wildly, one catching his shin with enough force to make him yelp in pain; the arm pinning her gave slightly in response, so she was just able to wrench down and sink her teeth into his wrist. He roared, cracked her across the face and flung her away, sending her skidding and tumbling across the ground. Then he leapt on her, squeezing her throat enough to choke.

“ _Bad_ kitty,” he growled, his own teeth bared. “Just for that, I'm going to make sure this _really_ hurts.” He gripped the collar of her halter top.

“Some...one's...coming,” Cinna hissed, hoarsely, ears twitching.

“You're lying,” Eric dismissed, then stiffened, and craned round. His eyes flared. “ _How_?! How did they...? Forget it.” He sprang to his feet and sprinted from the yard.

Less than a minute later Sheavah, Jan and Ginger rushed in, the three of them huddling round her, cradling her between them.

“Cin?” The kobold's voice was taut with worry. “What happened?”

“Eric.” The cat fervently nuzzled all three, body trembling. “He caught me. He was...he was...” She couldn't finish. “But you scared him off.”

“Bastard,” Sheavah spat. “He's lucky he bolted...”

“We knew he was trouble, but...” Jan was guilt-ridden. “If we had any idea...”

“How could you?” Cin shook her head. “This is all...on him. How did you...find me?”

“You left a trail of fur and scratches,” Sheavah explained. “If you want to just go home, we'll fully understand.”

The cat shook her head. “I'm not going to let Eric ruin the meet. And don't think this will stop me coming to future ones.”

“All right.” The kobold smiled. “You're always welcome. Eric, on the other hand...” Her paw clenched.

“Think he'll try again?” Jan asked.

“If he does, he's stupid,” Sheavah averred, then sighed. “Let's get back to the bar. Leslie's waiting.”

The cat threw herself into the rest of the meet, talking with Verity and Jan, playing with Lapis and Ginger – a slim, brunette thirty-something out of the suit – and almost succeeding in forgetting Eric. The evening was largely spent nestled in Ian's arms, and before she went to sleep she spent quite some time staring at a photo on Ian's phone, of herself, a vibrant blue mouse, a playful orange cat, a cheerful kobold, a smiling young man, and a beatific little girl.


	9. Snow Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lazy Sunday morning gets more interesting when Cinnamon rescues a familiar face from an oncoming blizzard, and a simple prank triggers a war that can only end in one big mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This version of Snow Day is unique to AO3. Alternative version available everywhere else the Cinnamon stories are uploaded.

Cinnamon woke to a surprise. Something small and stiff was nudging her vulva, a sensation that, in the circumstances, curled on her side in Ian's embrace, could really only have one source, but it was still hard to believe. Lifting the sheets and her upper leg revealed the tip of Ian's erect penis brushing her lips, and doubt was dispelled. She shook her head softly, chuckling, and settled back down to wait for him to stir.

It didn't take long, and when he did, confusion drifted across his face, then he froze, staring wide-eyed and anxious at Cin. Her response was to smile affectionately at him and rub her face against his, purring, and the worry melted into quiet wonder.

“There are times,” he noted, kissing her muzzle, “I think you trust me a little _too_ much.” He sighed. “I mean, after what Eric did...”

“You're not him.” The cat stated, simply. “In fact...” Her hand drifted down to press his member against her vulva just enough to dimple the latter. “If you were to start pushing in right now, I wouldn't stop you.”

Ian stared at her, moisture beading in the corners of his eyes. “I love you too much to do that. I'd only disappoint.”

Cin kissed him, firmly. “No. You haven't.” She grinned wickedly. “And besides, you have fingers.” Her own very lightly pinched his foreskin.

Ian yelped, laughed, then grinned darkly. “Just for that, _my_ fingers are going to exact a _terrible_ punishment...”

Before the cat could get a word out his digits were scrabbling against her skin, through her fur, right across her chest, belly and flanks. She yowled with laughter and writhed helplessly, batting at him and trying to push him away, but to no avail. He soon discovered two particularly sensitive spots, one between her breasts, the other just above her hip, and focused on them.

“Say sorry, and I stop,” he told her.

“I'm...sorry!” she gasped out.

He finally relented, hands stilling. “Thank you.”

Cinna was left a panting, rumpled mess. “My...coat...is...gonna...take ages...to groom...now...”

“I'll help,” Ian promised, rolling languidly onto his back. “When I can be bothered to get up.”

The cat shifted to lie atop him, her head resting on his breastbone, his penis softening between their stomachs. “Can't we...just stay here...all day? It _is_ Sunday...after all.”

“Sorely tempting,” Ian admitted, both hands smoothing the fur of her back. “I mean, chores or hours of kitty snuggles? No contest.”

Cinna just purred gently, lazing. Eventually, though, she blinked up at the window above the head of the bed. “Is it just me, or is it unusually bright for the time of day?”

Ian nodded. “Seems so.”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Cin shifted forwards, propping her chin and hands on the sill, her breasts resting on Ian's face. Gazing out, her eyes widened. “Everything's white!”

“Tell me about it,” Ian laughed, slightly muffled.

She ignored him, far too enraptured by the snow-swept world outside the window. “It's _beautiful_...”

“Not seen snow before?” Ian asked.

“Not like this,” Cin told him. “Not so deep. I'd want to go play in it, if there wasn't a blizzard coming.”

“Blizzard?” Ian lifted the cat up and eased out from under her, turning to look himself; a thick, pale haze with heavy clouds hanging above it was rolling across the fields towards the house. “Oh, yes. We could be snowed in, at this rate.”

Cin stiffened, leaning forward. “I think I see someone...”

“Out there? Sure it's not just a fox? Or a deer?”

“It's a person, in the field right behind our house,” the cat insisted.

“Where?”

Cinna pointed. “I think it's a _child_...”

“It can't be, not in this... _Cin_!” He snatched at the cat as she launched from the bed, but missed.

He chased her downstairs, but was far too slow to stop her unlocking the door and tearing outside. A blast of biting cold wind and whirling snow against his naked skin prevented him from following Cinna as she vaulted the back fence and hurried across the field, furrowing through the snow, so instead he ran back inside the house to pull on a dressing gown and gather plenty of towels.

Several minutes later the cat came back, sodden, shuddering, coated in snow, and carrying a slip of a little girl with long chestnut hair, a pale yellow nightdress plastered to their body, and wide hazel eyes. She set the child down on a towel Ian had spread across the floor.

He draped another towel round the cat's shoulders then knelt before the girl. “We'll have to take your gown off, all right?”

The girl gave a shaky nod. Carefully, Cinna and Ian peeled her out of the drenched dress, which the man hung on a portable rack in front of a radiator, before they gently dried her with a towel each, although her hair retained a certain sheen, and finally settled her on the sofa snugly wrapped in a fresh one.

The cat, with a lot of help from Ian, rubbed her fur as dry as possible, leaving it even more mussed, then sat next to the child, one last towel loosely drawn around her. To her surprise, the girl slipped out of theirs and shifted into her lap, cuddling close, their head cushioned on feline breasts. Cin blinked, chuckled softly, kissed their forehead, then made a snug cocoon of both towels.

“You're Violet Harker, aren't you?” Ian asked the child, sitting close.

Another nod.

“And you're staying with your Grandad, right?”

A third bob.

Cinna's brows rose. “Sh-she's th- _that_ Violet? S...small world.”

“Small county.” Ian smiled. “Tell me, Violet – what were you doing out in the fields, in the snow, in just your nightdress?”

They didn't reply, hiding their face in Cin's breasts.

Ian decided not to push, instead collecting his phone. “Better call Mr Harker to tell him you're safe.” Five minutes later, he put it aside. “He'll collect you once the blizzard's over, and he'll bring fresh clothes. He's also told me you like tomato soup, and we happen to have a spare can, so I'll warm it up for you. Willing to tell us what happened, yet?”

Violet's face, colour coming to her cheeks, lifted ever-so-slightly from Cin's breasts, and she spoke in the softest little voice. “Saw a pink fox.”

The cat's head cocked. “A pink fox?”

“Yes.”

“A fox that was pink? Like the panther?”

“Yes.”

“Did it walk like me? Upright?”

“Yes.”

“And you followed them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“They looked hurt.”

“So you wanted to help. Why not tell your Grandad?”

“He wouldn't let me. But she was _limping_ , so I...”

“You went by yourself. And got lost.”

“Yes.” Violet's voice was almost inaudible. “I couldn't keep up.”

“Any idea where the fox went?”

“No. I hope she's safe.”

“So do we.” Cinna frowned. “A pink AnthroPet fox? I know there were thoughts of trying more exotic pets, but that's years away...”

“We might as well scout around a bit once the blizzard's passed,” Ian suggested. “Though I really doubt there'll be any traces left.” He stood up. “Let's get you that soup, hm, Violet?”

It didn't take long to prepare a bowl. Pulling the laptop table in front of Cin and the girl he set the soup and a spoon on it. She thanked him with a polite little smile, then eased out of the cocoon to sit beside the cat, on her own towel, completely at ease with her nudity, and started on the meal with visible relish.

“Do we have any chicken soup left?” the cat asked. “She's making me hungry.”

“Yes.” Ian petted her ear. “I'll get it ready.”

Cinna rose to her feet. “And I'll visit the little cat's room. I can spare a shirt if you want something to wear, Violet...”

The girl's eyes widened. “Does that mean I can stay bare if I want?”

“If Ian doesn't mind.”

“No objections,” he called over. “Would your grandad mind?”

A little colour tinted Violet's cheeks. “Yes, but I go bare anyway, when he naps and can't see. Mum lets me when no-one else is around.” She giggled. “She thinks it's just a fad I'll grow out of.”

“All right, then.” Cin started for the stairs. “I'll still bring the shirt, for when your Grandad arrives. When I come back, I'll need to see if I can find anything about AnthroPet foxes, then we'll pass the time until the blizzard's over however you want to.”

On her return, close to ten minutes later, collar in place and t-shirt in hand, she found Violet sitting peacefully cross-legged in one corner of the sofa, still on their towel, and a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a fresh spoon on the table. While she enjoyed it, having laid the shirt over the back of the couch, Ian went upstairs to visit the bathroom and change into a shirt and slacks.

When Cinna was done, she put the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher then set Ian's laptop on the table and sat in front of it. Violet moved to rest against her side, eyes bright with curiosity, and the cat studied the girl while the computer booted up.

Their hair was sleek, fine, very nearly reached their waist, and neatly hung either side of an elfin, inquisitive face. Their frame was willowy with just a hint of a swell in the stomach and the subtlest of curves in hips and sides. Tiny tan-pink nipples, one slightly higher up than the other, decorated their chest, a faint streak of a birthmark ran along the left inner thigh, to within a whisker of their delicately compact, mildly lopsided vulva, and the little toe on their left foot was a little crooked.

Violet grinned, showing off a gap where an incisor used to be. “Silly, aren't I? Funny nips and crooked lips and wonky toe and gappy teeth.”

Cin petted her hair. “I'll tell you a secret: everybody's silly, and wonky, and funny.” She pointed to her whiskers. “Three more on the left than on the right.” Then her breasts. “Right breast bigger than left one. Left nipple larger than right one.” Finally, her ears. “Left smaller than right, and a different shape. See?”

Violet nodded, and giggled.

“What you _definitely_ are,” the cat continued, lightly rubbing her face against the girl's, who giggled louder, “is cute. Cute little nudist.”

“Nu...dist?”

“Someone who likes to go bare, basically. See also: naturist, although that might be more being bare outdoors, in nature.”

“Never been bare outdoors.” Violet was both wistful and frustrated. “I _almost_ was, when I stayed with Grandad last summer, but he woke up too soon and I had to run back to my room and get dressed.”

Cin winced sympathetically. “So near, yet so far. Let's hope you have more luck this summer.”

The child shook her head, dolefully. “Grandad won't want me back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Cause he didn't really want me this time, and now...” Violet sagged.

Cinna nosed her cheek. “Maybe we can work something out...”

“Don't make promises we likely can't keep,” Ian warned, stepping off the stairs.

“Wasn't going to,” Cin responded. “But it can't hurt to try.”

“True enough,” Ian admitted, perching on the sofa arm closest to the cat. “Found anything?”

Cinna nodded. “I have indeed! It turns out a split grew amongst the AnthroPet scientists, between those who wanted to pace themselves, build up carefully to more exotic animals, and those who just wanted to skip right to the fun stuff. In the end, the latter broke away entirely, set up on their own, and their first project? Foxes.”

“Good find!” Ian praised, scratching behind her ear.

Starting to purr, Cin rubbed her head up into his hand, eyes closing.

“Such a _clever_ kitty,” the man complimented, his tone syrup, his hand starting to move.

“I am, aren't I?” the cat agreed, smugly, her head following his hand, to the point she slipped her legs out from under the table and shifted across the sofa, the purr growing. “Cleverest kitty there ever was.”

“So clever,” Ian continued, a mischievous smile growing, his finger to his lips as he winked at Violet, who stifled a giggle, “that she couldn't even see...” His hand drifted over the arm, and out past it, her blissful head following it, until she was leaning precariously out. “When she's being pranked.”

Cinna's eyes snapped open in shock, a split second before she toppled with a yowl.

“Enjoy your trip?” Ian smirked.

Upside-down on her shoulders against the side of the couch, her rear propped on the arm, her legs splayed low and wide, her twitching tail trailing onto the cushions, her arms flung out over the floor, her claws digging into the carpet, Cin did her best to affect an air of nonchalance even as her eyes narrowed. “I meant to do that.”

“Of course you did,” Ian condescended, patting her hip as he strolled away. “Clever cats always land on their heads.”

Cinna started growling, ears pinning back, tail lashing. “Of course you realise, this means _war_.”

Violet, wide-eyed with concern, peered over the arm of the sofa and the cat's haunches. “Are you all right?”

From Cin's perspective it looked like the girl's chin was cradled in her parted vulva, triggering a chuckle that mollified her ire. “Nothing hurt but my pride.” A wicked grin grew. “Want to help me get him back?”

The girl nodded, eyes shining.

“Then listen up...”

Forty minutes later, while sitting on the couch, working on his laptop, Ian was approached by a worried Violet.

“There's a problem with the toilet,” she told him. “It won't flush.”

He nodded and stood up. “It can be a little finicky sometimes. I'll fix it right up.”

The child led the way up the stairs, but declined to enter, stepping to one side so Ian could, not looking at him. He lifted a brow, stared at a curiously ajar door for a moment, then moved forwards, carefully took the bucket from the top of it, entered the bathroom, pushed open the shower door, and upended the bucket over the cat hiding inside, snow cascading onto her.

She yowled, jumped so high she almost cracked her head on the roof of the shower cubicle, then glowered at him. “ _YOU_...!”

Ian casually set the bucket over her head, then patted it. “If that's the best you have, I've nothing to fear. Greatly appreciate you setting this up in the bathroom, mind – makes clean-up _so_ much easier.”

As he sauntered out, whistling brightly, Violet took the bucket off the cat's head, trying not to shy away from the glare revealed. “I told you it wouldn't work...”

“The next one will!” Cinna insisted in a growl, shaking snow from her shivering body. “I _swear_ it.”

Thirty minutes later, they found Ian settled on the couch with his eyes closed, breathing deep and regular. Grinning devilishly, the cat crept to the kitchenette and retrieved a can of whipped cream, ignoring the worried shakes of the head from Violet. Sneaking over to the man, she very, very carefully started piling cream on his left hand, only for him to drowsily scratch an itch with it.

Muttering silent curses, the cat deposited a much bigger dollop on his other hand, set the can aside and started tickling his neck. He reacted immediately, snorting a laugh, his hands jerking up...to splat the cream right into either side of Cinna's face, then rub it over most of her head.

She fell on her rump, blinking and gaping in shock. “Wha...?”

A fully awake Ian grinned at her. “Knew you couldn't resist. Three-nil to me, I think.” He carefully patted the top of the cat's head, avoiding the cream smears. “I'd give up now, if I were you.” He ambled to the kitchenette to clean his hands, whistling as he went.

Cinna slumped with a sigh, cream starting to drip onto her shoulders and chest. “I know, Vi; I know. If you have any bright ideas...”

“Actually...” The girl's lips spread in a grin so wicked she might as well have sprouted horns.

Twenty minutes later, after a visit to the bathroom, Ian found the cat in the kitchenette, standing over a paper plate piled high with whipped cream. He smirked and sauntered closer.

“Is that for me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cin answered, brightly. “I estimate it'll be in your face in about, oh, twenty seconds.”

“Really? And how do you propose to do that?”

“With Violet's help.”

Ian stiffened. “Where is she?”

A cabinet above the counter, and his head, clicked open, and his head snapped up to look just in time to get a face-full of cream.

“Right there!” Cin cackled, sweeping the plate up from the counter to hit him in the side of the skull.

Even as he reeled from that another dollop of cream dropped on him from the cabinet, then the cat opened a second, pulled out the bucket, and tipped a generous amount of snow over him. Stunned, Ian sank to the floor, sitting against the counter, and Cin rested the bucket over his head, patting the top of it.

“Gotcha!” she crowed.

Then she lifted her co-conspirator out of the cabinet and exuberantly spun them around as a joint whoop filled the air. “We got him, we got him, we got him!”

Cinna pulled Violet in for a tight hug, kissing her forehead. “You're an evil little _genius_! I owe you a big favour!”

“And I owe her a good splattering.” Ian, sans bucket but still liberally slobbered in cream and melting snow, scooped up big handfuls of the former and started advancing on the cat and girl.

“I'll protect you!” Cin declared, dramatically, one hand supporting the child's rear, the other wrapped protectively around their back. “Nary a spot of foul cream shall taint your fair skin!”

“Do you really think it fair,” Ian wondered, ”that Vi's the only one who hasn't been splattered?”

The cat blinked, looked at a girl who was giggling with anticipation, then shook her head. “No, I don't.” She set Violet on their feet. “You're on your own, kid.”

Ian grinned malevolently, looming over the girl. “Hold... _still_...”

Violet giggled louder, and the very instant he lunged, cream-covered hands outstretched, she ducked down and to the side, so they grabbed Cin's breasts instead. The cat gave a mewling yelp, Ian a contrite grin, then both turned to the child, smiling darkly.

“Oh, you're for it _now_...”

Violet bolted for the stairs, laughing as she went. Cin and Ian chased after, quickly cornering her in the shower. She pressed herself against the wall at the back, still giggling fitfully even as she tried to appear as innocent and helpless as possible. It didn't work.

“In...my...power!” Cin cackled, filling the doorway, hands raised and flexing. Ian was right behind her.

“Be gentle,” Violet pleaded.

The cat lunged, arms clamping around the child and pressing her face into pushed-up, cream-coated breasts, while Ian patted dollops on the top of her head. Violet struggled to break free, Cin fought to keep her in place, and it quickly turned into a messy, laughter-racked wrestling match, Ian scooping cream from himself and lobbing it at them.

Just as quickly, it was over, cat and girl crumpling onto the floor of the shower, the latter draped over the former, both plastered with cream and both breathlessly giggling.

“Well, that escalated!” Cinna chortled, stroking the child's flank.

“We _may_ have gotten a little carried away,” Ian agreed, leaning on the doorway. “But I don't regret it for a moment.”

“Me neither!” Violet cheered, head pillowed on a feline breast. “Can we do it again?”

Ian laughed. “Maybe, if we can wrangle another visit. Right now, we need to clean up. To which end...” He switched on the shower, warm water raining onto the cat and girl, then headed to the sink, peeling off his shirt and turning on the taps.

The blizzard finally started to abate a little over an hour later. Cinna was lazing on her back on the couch, folded hands resting on the base of Violet's spine. The girl lay on top of her, facing the other way, head settled comfortably on loosely linked hands on the cat's belly. On the TV a grey rabbit was making a mockery of a haughty opera singer.

A sharp knocking at the door jolted them from their reverie.

“Grandad!” Violet gasped, alarmed, sitting up on the cat.

“Already?” Cin clasped the girl. “He could have called first.”

“Obviously not in the mood to waste time.” Ian closed his laptop and rose from the stool behind the kitchenette counter.

Violet slipped from Cin and the sofa, and hurriedly pulled on the cat's spare shirt; it reached her knees. Cinna hurtled upstairs, reappearing clad in plain grey tank top and shorts just before Ian unlocked the door and let their visitor in.

A tall, sharp-featured man with grizzled hair and a smart, if well-worn dark brown three-piece suit, he nodded curtly. “Thanks for taking care of my granddaughter. I hope she wasn't too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Cin assured him. “A sweetheart, in fact. We'd be happy to look after her again.”

Ian resisted an urge to press his hand to his face.

Mr Harker levelled an inscrutable stare at the cat. “Is that so? I might just mention that to my daughter. I'm certainly not keen to look after Violet any more; she's too much of a distraction, and after today...” His gaze turned to the girl. “Care to tell me why you ran out like that?”

The child couldn't speak, fumbling with the shirt, her cheeks bright.

“She saw an injured animal,” Cinna explained for her, “and ran out to help, but the blizzard caught her out. It was bad luck, mostly.”

“And good luck you saw her.” Mr Harker frowned. “It was still a really thoughtless thing to do, Violet. You could have been hurt, or worse.”

The girl nodded, head sagging.

“Selfless, too,” Cin defended. “So please don't be too harsh on her.”

Mr Harker's eyes narrowed minutely. “I'll leave any punishment up to her mother.” He threw a duffel bag to Violet's feet. “Get dressed.”

He turned his back, and the girl hurried to change into the clothes the bag held. Once she was done she tucked her nightdress into the bag, then clasped the cat tightly. “Thank you.”

Cin hugged her back, and kissed her forehead. “Our pleasure. Hope to see you again, soon.”

After another, lighter embrace with Ian, Violet allowed her Grandad to lead her outside, waving as she went. Cat and man moved to stand in the doorway, watching the Harkers walk away, following a path the elder had forged through the foot-deep snow. Once they were out of sight, Cin's gaze drifted across a shining snowscape that was silent and empty...except for a single, warm pink figure staring right back at her from round the trunk of a distant tree.

Then it was gone.


	10. The Big Dog and the Book Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bookshop Ian works at is short-staffed, so Cinnamon volunteers to help out. There she encounters a curious canine, and an all-too-familiar thief.

Cinnamon followed Ian off the bus, stepping into a quieter street than she'd expected in the middle of town, even if it was close to an hour before dawn. Snow compacted almost to ice crunched beneath their feet as they hurried along it, passing only a couple other people, and a bitter-edged wind cut right into them despite their heavy coats, gloves and woollen hats.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before they were ducking between a pair of fairly bland, fairly modern buildings into a passage that at first was pretty nondescript. At the back of the contemporary shops, however, its character underwent a dramatic change; asphalt turned to cobbles, and smart, sober Victorian buildings stood tall on either side; it felt, to Cin, like a step back in time.

The feeling deepened when the passage opened out into a courtyard that looked so much like a setting from a Holmes story she wouldn't have been surprised to see the great detective stride by. Half a dozen elegant edifices of two and three stories, among them an art dealer, an antique dealer, and a seller of vintage musical instruments, enclosed a tidily rectangular space.

Either side of the area stood two small street lamps, modern fittings in a period form, casting mellow pools of yellow-white light. Between those, in the centre, was a tall, sharply-carved statue of a gentleman in top hat and tails, hands resting on a cane planted like a sword in front of him. Snow lay inches thick right across the courtyard, broken only by a scant few footprint trails.

Light filled the broad window of one of the smaller buildings, spilling out across the pristine white; the static shadows of displays laden with books stood clear, and two mobile silhouettes drifted back and forth behind them. A wooden sign painted in deep scarlet with white text ran above the window, reading “Red Cellar Books”.

Ian and Cin crossed to the shop, the former knocking on the door, the latter reading a notice taped to it, just below a “CLOSED” sign – “Please be aware this is a clothing optional store”.

“I see it,” she commented, “but I still don't believe it. How does Tim get away with it?”

“Partly force of personality,” Ian answered, “partly strict rules. Never move the displays or lift the door blinds, and never leave the shop, and you should be fine. As long as they can't see it, they tolerate it; just. It also helps that hardly anyone ever takes the option.”

“Until now.” Cinna grinned.

One of the figures found a moment to unlock and open the door.

“Come in, come in!” Hazel urged, beckoning; she wore a sleek scarlet waistcoat, a white blouse and slate grey trousers, a name tag pinned to the upper left side of her chest.

Once they were inside, and the door secured against the cold, the cat shared a hug and a press of muzzles with the rabbit. “Wasn't expecting to find you here!”

“Poor Pat's been laid low by another bad cold,” Hazel explained, “so I'm filling in for them.”

Ian sighed. “Rotten luck. Is that the third or fourth this winter?”

“Fourth, I believe.” Tim joined them, resplendent in sparkling scarlet bow tie and waistcoat, over a white shirt with cufflinks and trousers in the same shade as Hazel's. “A bad season for bugs. Sorry to hurry you, but the latest batch of auction books just arrived, and need checking, pricing, sleeving if necessary, and shelving.”

“We'll get right on it.” Ian led Cin through a small maze of dark wood shelves lined with books to a door at the back of the shop.

Beyond it was a small office with a desk, a chair, a computer, a filing cabinet and a row of hooks. Man and cat shed their coats, gloves and hats and hung them up; underneath they wore the same outfit as the others, but Cinna was quick to reduce hers to the waistcoat alone. Her ears gained just a tinge of anxious colour as she patted smooth the fur of her haunches and legs.

“You look great,” Ian assured her, kissing her scalp; she beamed, body relaxing, and nuzzled him back.

They clipped name tags on, he collected a pencil, stickers and a stack of plastic sleeves, then Cin followed Ian just a few steps from the office door to some wooden stairs, the descending flight blocked by a rope with a sign – “STAFF ONLY” – hanging from it. Unclipping the cord and putting it to one side, the man headed down, the cat close behind, her tail starting to twitch.

At the bottom, through another door, a flick of a switch revealed a big room with a subtly heavy atmosphere, not helped by the dark red hue the walls were painted in. More shelves lined it, and several boxes sat on the floor; Ian moved to one, opening it, while Cin looked around, a shiver running down her spine.

“Who in their right mind paints cellar walls the colour of blood?” She wondered.

“As much as I'd love to say it was a secret cult engaged in dark rituals of human sacrifice, it was actually just an eccentric former owner with a ghoulish sense of humour,” Ian replied, with a wry smile. “I'll check, price and sleeve, you shelve them, all right?”

“All right.” Cin knelt beside him, ears perked.

Most of the books in the box proved to be science fiction paperbacks from the fifties and sixties with extravagant covers and melodramatic titles; Ian simply pencilled a small price in the top right corner of their first page then handed them to the cat. When she had a decent stack Cinna headed up to the first floor, which housed the fiction, found the relevant subsection, and slotted each of them into place.

She'd just dealt with the last book when Hazel appeared, scanning the shelves for anything out of place. As soon as the rabbit saw her, they froze, eyes widening and ears standing high, tinged with colour. Cinna cocked her hips flirtatiously and gave a little wave; Hazel's blush grew and she abruptly hastened away.

The cat blinked, confused, then shrugged and headed back down the stairs. On returning to the cellar she found a second stack ready and waiting, as well as a sole book sheathed in plastic, a double-digit price on a sticker on the sleeve. It was titled _The Shadow over Innsmouth_.

“Not the rarest edition,” Ian remarked, “but it's in good condition, and Lovecraft's always desirable. Take care not to damage the sleeve.”

Nodding, Cin collected the stack of books, set the Lovecraft on top of it, then climbed back to the first floor. She found Hazel there, who was quick to apologise, looking deeply contrite.

“I'm sorry I ran like that.” The rabbit fiddled with the copy of _The ABC Murders_ she was holding. “I, um, have a...a weakness... for bottomless girls...and a weakness for you...and a bottomless you was a little much for me to handle...”

The cat laughed, and hugged her warmly. “No worries. I'll dress more if it makes things easier for you.”

Hazel shook her head so vigorously her ears waved. “Don't you even dare! I said _was_ , remember?” She gave a coy smile. “Not to say I won't still be distracted by the sight of you, of course...”

Cin grinned, nudging noses tenderly. “Maybe you should try this. Get your own back.”

The rabbit giggled shyly. “As tempting as the idea of you so distracted you walk into shelves is...I'm not sure I'm ready for public nudity.” She languidly rubbed her muzzle against the cat's, her voice softening. “In private, though...”

Cinna shivered, eyes bright. “Oh, my.” Sighing, she eased back. “Sorry to hug and run, but I don't want to test Tim's patience. Or Ian's.”

Hazel nodded, if a little ruefully. “We'll pick this up another time.” Her eye was caught by the Lovecraft, and she gave a comical little shudder, tail flicking. “Read some of his stuff, once. Had bad dreams for three straight nights afterwards. Never again!”

Cinna kissed her cheek, and started to walk away. “Doubt I'd be any different. Horror's really not my thing.”

“What is?” the rabbit wondered.

The cat just smiled, and vanished round the shelves. She distributed three more lots of books, crossing paths with Hazel several times, and blithely dodging the rabbit's questions, enjoying their growing, playful frustration. Only once she'd placed the final volume did she relent.

“Fantasy,” she revealed. “Dragons, magic, quests, exotic lands, exotic people, all of that stuff.” Her ears coloured faintly. “One of these days I'll finally find the fortitude to tackle _Lord of the Rings_. I really want to read it, but it's such a tome.”

Hazel smiled. “It's a little intimidating, yes, but worth it.” Her eyes lit up, and she grabbed the cat's hand. “Come on!”

A mildly bewildered Cinna was dragged down the stairs to a short set of shallow shelves, next to the counter Tim was behind, on which the most expensive books were laid out. Among them was a rich maroon and soft grey hardback edition of _The Lord of the Rings_ in a slipcase of the same hues, with a price that made the cat's eyes bulge.

“Fiftieth anniversary deluxe edition,” Hazel explained, fondly amused by her friend's reaction. “And if you think that's expensive, you ought to see what early collected editions sell for.”

“Dear John Ronald Reuel comes at a serious premium,” Tim added in, looking over. “How're the auction books going, Cin?”

“All done,” the cat reported. “Bar one Ian wants your opinion on.”

“All right.” He stepped round the counter. “Need any help, Hazel?”

The rabbit nodded. “Fiction done, but still a lot of non-fiction to go. I swear the books muddle themselves up.”

Tim smiled over his shoulder as he headed for the cellar. “Either that or we've irritated the brownie again.”

Cin's head cocked, ears askew. “Brownie?”

A faintly spooked Hazel started for the shelving maze. “A household spirit of folklore that helps with chores if treated well, but can be very troublesome if not. I'll be honest, the idea of them unnerves me a bit, which is why I'm glad he's only joking.”

“What do they look like?” the cat asked, following.

“Small, ugly, hairy and usually either naked or in rags. Why?”

“Because there's one right on your heels.”

The rabbit spun, heart racing; on seeing nothing bar a smirking Cinna, her eyes narrowed playfully. “You'll regret that.”

The cat's smirk widened. “Oh, will I?”

“Definitely.” Hazel mounted a wooden step-stool. “After all, one good scare deserves another.”

“You couldn't scare me,” Cin proclaimed, smugly. “There's no trick I'd ever fall for.”

“Interesting choice of words, given what I've heard about you, Ian and your sofa...”

The cat bristled. “He cheated! He exploited a weakness.”

“This one?” One of the rabbit's fingers scratched behind Cin's ear.

They purred, eyes closing, then started away, scowling. “Hey! He _told_ you?!” They huffed and pouted. “No snuggles for him tonight...”

Hazel handed the cat a book, and gestured down the aisle. “What's so awful about me knowing, hm?”

Cinna padded along the shelves, finding the volume's proper spot and slotting it in. “It's the principle of the thing.” Close by were two further out-of-place books, which she collected and carried back to Hazel. “A cat needs to keep _some_ secrets.”

“I can understand that.” The rabbit exchanged hardbacks. “After all, so does a bunny.”

Feline ears perked as their owner moved off. “ _You_ have secrets?”

“Why so surprised?”

“Just...didn't think you the type.” A mischievous smile bloomed. “You realise, as a cat, I'm now contractually obliged to do my best to find all of them out?”

Hazel descended from the step-stool. “I'll just remind you that things rarely end well for curious cats...”

The smile widened to a grin, Cin bringing more books. “Not this cat!”

The rabbit hummed, sliding the stool a few feet along. “First time for everything...”

Cinna mounted it, rising on tiptoes to reach the highest shelf. Fingers settled on her rear, and she paused, twisting to look askance at Hazel.

“Just making sure you don't topple,” the rabbit told her, the picture of innocence.

The cat crooked a brow, unconvinced, but soon turned back to placing the books. Nothing untoward happened, and they quickly settled into a smooth, increasingly amicable routine, working their way along one aisle, then a second, occasionally making trips to others, and once up to the fiction section.

Returning from the latter sortie, Hazel found Cinna on the step-stool, frowning at a gap in the topmost shelf.

“I think a book's missing,” the cat reported. “I've scouted the shelves we've not sorted yet, and can't find it, and I can't see someone buying just one of the set.”

The rabbit mounted the stool behind them, pressing close, one hand on their belly, the other on their shoulder as she leaned up as high as she could, taking in the gap where the second in a three-volume set of scientific treatises on AnthroPets should have been. “I think you could well be right.” She nosed the cat's ear. “We'll keep our eyes open, and if we can't find it, we'll let Tim know.”

Hazel continued to be gently, tactilely affectionate as they dealt with the remainder of the shelves, lots of warm little hugs, touches, nuzzles and kisses. Cin was a little confused by it, a tiny bell of alarm ringing in the back of her mind, but she soon stopped caring, just enjoyed it. The missing book didn't turn up so, the rabbit's arm looped about the cat's waist, they set off to find Tim and Ian.

They proved to be in the office, discussing auction listings, Ian sat at the computer with Tim close by.

“All books sorted,” Hazel reported, “except for one we think might be missing.”

“Missing?” Tim frowned. “Why?”

“Because it's one of a set,” Cinna explained.

“That _is_ unlikely to have been sold alone,” he agreed.

“Give me a title and I'll make sure,” Ian asked, fingers hovering above the keyboard. The rabbit obliged, and he searched. “No sale recorded, so it's missing, all right. Wonder who'd steal it, though?”

“It's certainly an unusual choice.” Tim rubbed his chin. “And prompts me to consider making another enquiry about installing CCTV.”

“Another enquiry?” Cin questioned.

“The people I rent this place from are very particular about what you can and can't do,” Tim told her. “Preserving the original Victorian look and feel is paramount. I can understand it, but it does make life tricky sometimes. It was hard enough work getting permission to install the platform lift on the stairs, and the idea of cameras dotted around gives them palpitations. For today, stay vigilant, and report anything you see to Ian or me. Don't try to handle it yourselves. Understood?”

Rabbit and cat nodded.

The latter couldn't resist making a playful suggestion. “Maybe it's the brownie; someone _really_ ticked him off.”

“Then we'd better hope no-one ticks him off more,” Tim noted, dead serious, “or we might end up with a boggart.” He pointed to a vacuum tidily resting in a corner. “You two should have enough time to run that around before we open.”

Cinna started to speak, thought better of it, then allowed Hazel to pull her over to the vacuum. The rabbit hefted the bulky body, the cat the long nozzle, and they left the office, heading upstairs. They worked it around the first floor in focused silence, not missing an inch of carpet, but trying not to linger, either.

Tim passed them as they carefully cleaned their way down the stairs, far too deep in thought to acknowledge them, and Hazel watched him go with ears low and worry turning her mouth down. They completed the ground floor with just a couple of minutes left before opening time and hastened to return the vacuum to the office, where a pensive Ian still lingered.

“The theft's really gotten to Tim,” he told them, “so it's probably best you don't mention it. I'm going to take the counter for the first couple of hours, you two watch over a floor each, all right?”

Hazel was insistent on taking the first floor, and Cin didn't argue. The rabbit gave the cat a quick hug and kiss on the lips, then ushered her out of the office, telling her they had something to take care of before heading upstairs. Cinna, a handful of butterflies fluttering in her belly, followed Ian to the door, watching as he turned the sign to “OPEN” and unlocked it. Then she padded to a little alcove with a step-stool and a chair, and sat down to wait.

Over the first hour she saw just two people, both of whom gave polite acknowledgement, but sought no help, clearly familiar with the store, going right to what they wanted. In marked contrast the third person was very keen on her assistance, though it soon dawned on her it was little more than an excuse to stare at her rear. A calm but pointed note of this was all it took for them to hurry, chastened, from the shop.

The fourth person, a twinkly-eyed old man with a walking stick, was a delight, respectful, attentive and possessed of a pleasantly wry sense of humour; he even gratefully shook her hand before he left. The next few also left her alone, or only asked quick questions easily answered, and she started to find some real confidence.

It was dented by a strident parent who took serious exception to the idea of their child seeing a bottomless female, covering their eyes and threatening to create quite a scene. Cinna was greatly relieved when Tim appeared, firmly and efficiently dealing with the parent, the notice on the door referenced more than once. They soon retreated, leaving with a frown, then Tim left too, giving the cat no chance to thank him.

She took a break after that, retiring to the office for a drink and a little snack. Returning to the shop, the cat was just in time to hold the door open for a lady in a wheelchair to roll through. Tightly wrapped in hat, coat and scarf, skin the colour of milk chocolate, short, curled hair of a lighter shade partly framing a roundly cheerful face marked by a small scar across the bridge of the nose and set with deep brown eyes, they smiled and thanked her.

Right behind them was a figure that made Cin shrink back a little, her tail and ears sinking slightly. A tall – almost Ian's height – dobermann AnthroPet, they had a strong face and figure, the former marked by a faint scar line from nose to cheek, an upright bearing, and a watchful demeanour, long, tapering ears perked, pale eyes scanning. They wore a sleek, matte bodysuit much in the vein of biking leathers, the bulk of it charcoal grey, deep red strips along the flanks, and powder blue on collar, shoulders, and a long, rounded V down the front that ended just below where the zip did on their lower belly.

Once inside they regarded Cinna coolly, expressionlessly, then gave a curt bob of the head; the feline flashed a nervous smile. The woman unhooked a large bag from one of the wheelchair's handles, set it open in her lap, then took off her hat, coat, scarf, jumper, t-shirt and bra and packed them all into it. This revealed a heavily pregnant belly and pert little breasts just beginning to fill out.

At the same time, the dobermann unzipped her suit, and sloughed it fluidly, folding it up smartly and adding it to the bag. Try as she might, Cinna couldn't not stare at the sleekly muscular figure now uncovered, swathed in short, glossy fur of ebony. It shaded to tan across the lower half of the muzzle, on the throat, hands and feet, in brushing teardrops over round, well-proportioned breasts capped with dusky nipples, and a patch that started at her elegantly elongated navel, flowed over her graceful vulva, and painted the centre of her rear up to the base of her long, thin tail. Six more nipples were dotted on either side of a subtly filled out stomach, another thin scar running across it.

Narrowing eyes fixed on the cat, head tilting an inch, and Cin flushed, backing off and stuttering an apology. The embarrassment deepened when Tim chose that moment to reappear.

“Abigail! Sabine!” he greeted, warmly, hugging both of them. “Great to see you again. Don't mind Cinna; tact really isn't her strength.”

The cat pouted, but kept her mouth shut.

“And, to be fair,” he continued, smiling at the dog, “you _are_ a striking sight to behold.”

Something that might have been a smile flickered for a second across Sabine's face, and she dipped her head again.

“I'm sure she won't mind taking care of you both,” Tim finished, “and maybe she'll learn a few things in the process.”

Cin's pout grew, but she didn't argue, and accompanied the lady and the dobermann across the store. A blizzard of butterflies stirred in her stomach as she realised she had no idea how to operate the platform lift; she very nearly sagged with relief on seeing Hazel at the top of the stairs. The rabbit beamed at the sight of the newcomers, and she fair bounded down to greet them.

“Would you like to look after them now?” Cinna asked, hopefully.

“No, I'll just operate the lift.” There was something in Hazel's manner that made Cin wary. “I need a break. You go to the top of the stairs to make sure no-one tries to come down, all right?”

“All right.” The cat climbed up, and positioned herself to bar access to the stairs. She watched the platform rise toward her, Abigail securely on it, Sabine pacing behind, attention flicking back-and-forth between it and Cinna. When it reached the top she stepped back, looking at the floor until a hand touched her shoulder.

“Would you happen to know,” Abigail asked, her voice bright, “where Tim's keeping the historical fiction this week?”

Cin nodded, and led them there, standing aside while the woman set to browsing. A moment later she became uncomfortably aware of the dobermann moving to loom over her; a glance up revealed unblinking eyes fixed on her, Sabine solidly upright with their arms tucked behind their back, expression implacable.

The cat began to physically wilt under the stare, ears and tail sinking further, shoulders slumping.

The dog sighed, then spoke in a smoothly smoky voice with a fair bit of depth to it. “Ohhh, now I'm feeling guilty.”

Cin's head snapped up, confusion flaring through her. “What?”

A contrite, anxious smile spread over Sabine's face, greatly softening it. “This, um, 'little joke' isn't _quiite_ turning out like she said it would.”

“Little joke...?” Feline ears flattened. “ _She_...?” She growled. “So _that_ 's what she had to do in the office!”

The dobermann nodded. “She knew we were coming so called us and asked if I could intimidate you a little, just to spook you.” Sinking to a crouch she looked pleadingly into Cin's eyes. “Could you...maybe... _not_ make hassenpfeffer out of her? This was meant to be a little harmless payback but I don't think she had any idea how strongly you'd react to me and I know I certainly didn't and I really should've said no like Abs told me to and if there's anything I can do to make it up to you just say because I'm starting to think I've been a really bad dog...”

The way their voice faded and even cracked ever-so-slightly towards the end thoroughly doused Cin's anger; she stepped up to hug Sabine, nosing their cheek. “I don't think you're capable of being a bad dog.”

“No,” Abigail agreed, fond eyes on the canine-girl. “She's just a little thoughtless, sometimes.”

“Aren't we all?” Something wry filtered into Cin's expression. “And it's not like I didn't bring this on myself.” She pet the dog's back. “What say we let bygones be bygones and start again?”

The response was a return embrace so tight it strained her spine, and a big licking kiss on the side of the muzzle.

“Thank you!” Sabine gushed, eyes shining; she pulled back and held a hand out. “I'm Sabine, and the gorgeous lady with the sweet wheels is Abigail.” Her eyes grew even brighter. “My partner.”

The cat shook. “Cinnamon.” Then grinned. “Partners, huh?”

“Unlikely, I know,” the dobermann agreed, with a mildly lopsided grin of her own. “I mean, if you'd told me three years ago I'd fall ears over tail in love with a _human_ , I'd have thought you were plumb crazy.”

“I wouldn't.” The cat's gaze drifted to Abigail, who was browsing the historical novels again, one affectionate eye on the dog. “Does anyone give you trouble about it?”

“Sometimes,” Sabine admitted. She affected a prissy voice. “Why are you with a hairless ape? That's so _disgusting_. You should be ashamed of yourself.” She rolled her eyes. “That 'hairless ape' saved my life, so I think loving her to distraction is the very least I could do.”

“You're making me blush!” Abigail laughed, rolling nearer, two books in her lap; she drew the dog to her to kiss the side of their snout. “And you saved mine, too.”

“Have _you_ had trouble?” Cin asked.

“I've had the B-word thrown at me a few times,” the woman replied, scratching Sabine's flank as the canine-girl pressed lovingly closer. “But I don't care. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life with her.”

“We're hoping to get married.” The dobermann nuzzled her partner's cheek. “We're part of a group campaigning to make it legal.”

“Wishing you the best with that!” Cin averred. “The child, too.”

“Children,” Sabine corrected, smile beatific as her hand stroked across her stomach.

Cinna gaped. “You're _both_...?” Then laughed. “All or nothing with you two, huh?”

“We couldn't decide if we wanted a human kid or a dobekid,” the dog admitted, with a wry chuckle. “Kept on going back and forth, before it finally dawned on us: have one of each!”

“Finding a donor for Sabbie was a pain, though,” Abigail noted.

“AnthroPet sperm banks aren't really a thing,” Sabine clarified. “Studs are, but I _really_ wasn't about to go there.” She shuddered.

“Don't blame you!” Cin shivered a little herself, patting the dog's arm lightly. “And don't feel you have to share any more; I know this is pretty personal stuff.”

The dobermann laughed, waving a cheery hand. “One, you're a friend of Hazel's. Two, do we look like shy, retiring types to you? And three, I share way too much. I mean, I'll even tell you what Abbie and I like to do in the b-mmphh!”

A chocolate-skinned hand pressed to her muzzle, even as its owner's eyes sparkled with mirth. “Maybe we ought to move on, hm?” Abigail indicated the top shelf. “There's one more book I'd like up there if you have a stool handy.”

Cin pivoted to where she knew one to be, then yelped as tan hands gripped her hips and lifted her effortlessly into the air. “Whoa-what?!”

“Figured this would be easier,” Sabine told her, brightly. “Which book was it, Abby?”

The woman named it, the cat collected it, and the dog lowered her so she could hand it over. The dobermann didn't, however, put her down, instead propping her on their hip with one of their arms curled around her rear, hand on her thigh. Cin stared at them in blank confusion for so long they started to worry.

“I-if this is awkward,” Sabine flustered, “I can just...”

The cat sparked to life, nosing the side of their muzzle. “No, no! I'm fine with this. Don't understand it, but I'm fine with it.”

“I just like carrying people,” the dog stated, simply. “Maybe it's cause I carry Abby so much. It feels...nice.”

Cinna chuckled. “Fair enough.” She angled a hand around the canine's back to settle on their opposite shoulder, and laid the other on the far side of their stomach, her fingers curling onto their flank. “Anywhere in particular you want to carry me?”

Sabine's ears coloured faintly. “The, uh...” She cleared her throat, her eyes drifting to the floor. “The romance section.”

The cat's ears canted, momentarily, then she smiled and nodded her head down the aisle. “That way!”

The dog's lifted again, and she stared at the feline for a little while, a smile of her own slowly growing, then she pressed a smacking kiss to their forehead, gripped the hand on their thigh, and starting walking at an easy pace, tail waving; Abigail rolled along in their wake, grinning delightedly, just a touch of moisture in the corner of her eye.

On reaching the romance section a minute later they found someone already there, so Sabine hung awkwardly back until they finally moved on, and remained just a little anxious and watchful as she perused the shelves. She'd selected one gleefully florid bodice-ripper, handing it to Abigail, and was considering another, when footsteps started their way and she spun with a start, clutching Cin tighter.

Relief set her sagging on seeing Hazel, then surprise and even wonder took over on realising the rabbit was now dressed just like the cat, who was staring at them in such open-mouthed shock – heavily tinged with something else – the dog finally started laughing aloud. She let Cinna down, and watched as they took a stunned step toward Hazel.

“I, uh, though this the least I could do to try and apologise,” the bunny explained, ears bright, not quite looking at the feline. “I really messed up, and I should have left things well alone, and mmph...”

They were silenced by a warm, lingering kiss right on the lips from the cat, accompanied by a snug hug. “No harm, no foul, move on. Okay?”

Hazel nodded dumbly, looking very much like her brain had dissolved too far for coherent thought.

Cin pulled back, and beamed at the rabbit. “Besides, that's a _fabulous_ look on you!”

Hazel grinned goofily, ears somehow growing redder.

Sabine was in fits. “You never mentioned you two were _partners_ , H.”

“We...we aren't,” the bunny managed to get out; confusion setting in, her ears flicked to cock-eyed angles. “At least, I don't _think_ we are...”

Cin chuckled, softly squeezing them, and nudging noses, then looking back at the dog. “It's...complicated. I really, really like Hazel, but I also really, really like my owner, Ian, and I _still_ haven't figured out what that makes me or what I want to do about it.”

“You could be bisexual, or pansexual, or omnisexual” – Sabine ticked things off on her fingers as she went – “or biromantic, or panromantic, or omniromantic, or polyamorous or a combination of some of them or all of them or none of them or...” She spread her hands, her smile softening. “Just _you_.”

“And as to what you can do about it,” Abigail chimed in, “try whatever the hell you want.”

Cinna chuckled, then her head tilted. “Polyamorous?”

“It means you have more than one partner,” the woman replied. “It's hard, but can be rewarding, or so I've heard. I've actually suggested to Sabbie she find a second partner, since, well...” Her smile thinned. “I'm not exactly a para-athlete, so there's a lot I can't do with her.”

“I'll admit,” Sabine rejoined, “I _would_ like somebody to run with, and exercise with, and hike with, and spar with, but if there's even a _slight_ chance of hurting Abby...”

Her partner took and squeezed her hand. “Just choose well. And you might have forgotten some...”

A tan finger pressed to her lips, muting her, then a muzzle was kissing them strongly. “No.” Sabine's tone was unequivocal, and steeped with affection. “Only you.”

Abigail's eyes moistened again, then she pulled the dobermann into a deeper kiss, mismatched mouths blending as much as they were able for several long seconds. “And people wonder why I love her.”

“Those people are idiots,” a more composed Hazel stated, firmly; her eyes then lit, concerned, on a quietly subdued Cin; she laid a hand on their shoulder. “What's wrong?”

The cat started slightly, then shook her head, screwing on a smile that didn't get close to her eyes. “I'm fine.”

“You're not,” the rabbit gently persisted. “Talk to me.”

Cin fidgeted, her ears flicking, almost spoke twice, then finally words blurted out. “I could hurt you. Or Ian. Or both of you. I...”

Hazel embraced the cat, cradling her closely, rubbing the small of her back and nuzzling her cheek. “I trust you. You take as long as you need to figure things out, and I'll accept whatever choice you make. As long as you're part of my life, I'm happy.”

Cinna trembled, faintly, briefly, there was a barely audible sound that might have been a sob or a catching of breath, then she pushed away, her hands gripping the rabbit's waist. Her eyes were distinctly watery as they fixed on Hazel's, but something glowed in them that made the latter's ears warm dramatically. The cat's muzzle started to dip toward the bunny's...

“Can you make out somewhere else? You're blocking the aisle.”

Starting, both flush with embarrassment, the pair hastily side-stepped to make room for the speaker to pass. Once they had, and were out of sight, Cin caught Hazel's face, leaning in so their noses touched. “We're gonna pick this up again another time,” she promised, in a murmuring tone that again set rabbit ears glowing.

She then turned to Sabine and Abigail, and had to bite back a laugh at the gooey-eyed look the dobermann was giving them.

“So _cute_!” the dog breathed, hands to their muzzle.

Cin chuckled. “Found all you want, doughnut dog?”

Sabine's head cocked. “Doughnut dog?”

“Hard and tough on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside.” Cinna explained, with a grin.

“That's certainly you!” Abigail laughed. “I'll have to remember it.”

The dobermann blushed, awkwardly turning to the shelves. “I'd want at least one more, I think...” A smirk suddenly bloomed, and she swept Cin up onto her hip before the cat had a chance to resist. “And you can help me find it!”

Cinna blinked, then settled more comfortably against the dog. “If you insist. Any particular preferences?”

As they searched and debated, Abigail beckoned to Hazel; the rabbit moved over, and took little coaxing to settle sideways on the woman's lap, holding the pile of books; dark hands linked on a tan hip, and quiet conversation started up. It finished with a hug and kisses on cheeks, a moment before Sabine added one last volume to the pile, one that had two flushed women, heaving cleavages spilling out of barely-buttoned blouses, in a passionate embrace on the cover.

“My lucky day!” the dobermann beamed. “Only thing better would be one with AnthroPets, but that's about as likely as snow in June.”

“Maybe you should write one,” Cin suggested, jokingly.

Sabine's ears coloured. “Don't we have an appointment soon?”

Abigail gave her partner a sympathetic smile. “We do.” Smoothly, she manoeuvred her chair around, Hazel staying in her lap, and started to roll along the aisle. “So easy to lose track of time, here. We'll see if we can find a book on Anthropet pregnancies, then take our leave.”

The dobermann followed the woman, nodding agreement, Cinna still propped comfortably on her hip. The cat, noticing the subtle droop of the dog's ears and tail, tamped down her curiosity, and curled her arms around them, lightly petting their lower flank and stomach, making no attempt to avoid nipples, and nosed their cheek.

Sabine perked up quickly, smiling again as they followed the platform lift down the stairs, even starting to hum a little tune as Hazel guided the group to the relevant aisle. Entering it, they again found someone already there, someone in the process of slotting one book onto a high shelf and removing another, someone who made Cin's blood run cold.

Eric froze, head swivelling to stare expressionlessly at the group. The cat buried her face in Sabine's shoulder, starting to shake, grasping the dog tight, while Hazel bolted, and Abigail tensed up. The dobermann's gaze flicked back and forth between Cinna and Eric, then locked on the latter; setting the cat down she began stalking forwards, hands flexing, lips pulling back from large, sharp teeth, a growl building.

The young man faltered, then ran, a book in hand. As he reached the end of the aisle, a sandy-furred leg lashed out from round the corner, catching him across the knees; he pitched forward, book slipping from his grasp, curled into a roll, then sprang up and tore out of the door, a shout echoing in his wake.

“See you at the con, kitty!”

Sabine and Hazel, the latter holding the book, rushed back to gather Cin into a close group embrace, the dog dropping to their knees to do so, Abigail joining in as much as they could, and her trembles started to slowly subside. Then Ian appeared, and they parted to let him hold the feline, kiss her scalp and muzzle, and pet her back.

“It was him, wasn't it?” he asked, in a whisper so tight it sounded like it might snap.

Cin gave a single, mute nod.

“Him who?” A deeply concerned and confused Sabine wondered.

Ian looked to Cinna, who nodded again, then answered, anger laced through his voice. “The bastard who tried to rape her.”

Sabine paled. Abigail's hands went to her mouth. Hazel's expression darkened, her hands tightening into fists.

The dobermann's teeth bared again, and she spoke in a snarl. “Want me to track him down?”

“No.” Cin shook her head. “He's not worth it.” She kissed Ian's mouth, then eased from his arms to kiss the bridge of Sabine's muzzle. “Thank you.” She pecked Abigail's cheek, then turned to Hazel, staring at them in open adoration. “And as for the kung-fu-kicking super-rabbit...”

“Taekwondo, actually.” Long ears tinted heavily. “It's just a hobby; I've not got any belts or dans or anything. Can't even get the height, yet. I was going for his groin. And super-rabbit? I didn't stop him.”

Cinna slid her hands around Hazel's hips to draw them close, nudging noses, deep warmth filling her expression and voice. “You stopped him stealing the book, and helped chase him away, and all while you were scared yourself. That's a Super-Rabbit to me.” She looked to Ian, who nodded, smiling widely. “And as a hero, that means you get the girl...”

The cat gazed around, making sure they were alone, then pressed her lips tenderly to the bunny's, lapping softly. Hazel's eyes widened, and moistened, then drifted closed, their hands settling on Cin's shoulders, and their muzzle opened to the cat's. The kiss was deep, gentle, more than a little clumsy, and quite brief, but it left both of them breathless and smiling, foreheads resting together.

“Thank you,” Cinna whispered.

“A-any time.” Wet tracks were running down Hazel's cheeks.

A peculiar little noise drew their attention to Sabine, standing next to her partner, and struggling hard to contain herself. They chuckled, and held out a hand apiece. A blink later she was hugging both of them so tightly their eyes threatened to bulge out of their sockets. Before she could say anything, though, Tim appeared.

He stooped to pick up the book. “I can't shake the feeling I've missed something...”

Cin filled him in. “And sorry if I upset you,” she finished. “I won't make any more cheap asides about the brownie.”

Now holding Hazel to himself with one arm, Tim shook his head with a soft smile. “I really shouldn't be so sensitive on the subject, but it _is_ pretty personal. One day I might even explain it.” He sighed, looking to the book. “I _really_ need to pressure the owners about CCTV, because the very idea of him coming back and trying to steal one of _you_ now he knows you can be found here...” He shuddered.

Cin's stomach turned at the thought, then she shook her head. “He's not stupid enough to try it. He's planning something for the con next month, though.”

“Then maybe you shouldn't go?” Ian suggested.

The cat shook her head again, more forcefully. I didn't let him ruin the meet, and I'm not gonna let him ruin the con. I'll just have to be extra careful, make sure I'm never alone.”

Sabine crouched close by, resting a hand on Cinna's shoulder. “What if you had a guard dog?”

Cin blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. What kind of a con is it?”

“Furry con. Fans of anthropomorphism.”

Sabine lit up. “Oh, the ones who wear those fabulous costumes? That looks so much fun!”

Cin's ears twitched, then she laughed. “Well, if you don't mind being gushed over, hugged repeatedly, and occasionally beaned on the head with plush foodstuffs...”

“I'll cope.” The dobermann gave a lopsided grin. “Get our email from Hazel, and send us the details.”

“All right.” Cinna turned to the rabbit. “Decided if you want to attend, yet? The more the merrier.”

“If Tim's all right with that...”

Her owner nodded. “Since I know you'll be in good company, and can look after yourself.” His gaze shifted to Sabine. “If there's anything we can do to thank you, don't hesitate to say.”

“Can we see that book?” Abigail asked, holding out a hand.

Tim passed it to her, and she examined it, interest growing fast. “Well, how about that; this covers what we wanted, and more besides. It's a little expensive, though, so if there's any chance of a small discount...”

Sabine cringed, ears colouring. “You really don't have to...”

Tim collected the other two volumes, and held them out. “Yours. For the grand price of nothing at all.”

The partners shared a stunned look.

“I-If you're _sure_...” Sabine ventured.

“Perfectly.” Tim pressed the books into her hands.

The dog relented with a chuckle. “Well, all right, but only if you swear to spoil Hazel rotten tonight.”

The man petted between the rabbit's ears. “That's a guarantee.”

“And _you_ ,” Ian told Cin, scratching beneath her chin, “won't be leaving my arms until morning.”

“Talking of leaving,” Abigail politely interjected, “we'd better pay for the rest of our books, and head to that appointment.”

Tim and Hazel bid them farewell with warm hugs and kisses, then the former headed for the office to make a call, and the latter returned to the first floor. Ian and Cinna led Sabine and Abigail to the counter, the man pricing up the books as the dog and woman got dressed. The cat found her gaze drifting to the anniversary volume of _Lord of the Rings_ , but snapped it away when Ian smiled indulgently at her.

Once Sabine and Abigail had left, the dobermann having given Cin a huge, licking kiss on the lips and a promise to visit her soon, Ian gazed fondly at his cat.

“I'm buying you that book,” he told her.

She shook her head. “No, you're not. It's too expensive.”

He tapped her nose with a finger. “ _Yes_ , I am, and you'll read it, and be petted and groomed and cuddled and kissed, and like it.”

Cin's eyes watered, and she leant against him, purring softly, her eyes closed. “I love you.”

Ian held her gently, and kissed her scalp. “Love you more.”


	11. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cinnamon and Sabine head to the woods to find someone in need. The dog shares some of her past, and a young fox gains hope for a future.

Cinnamon's tail-tip flicked with anxiety. She was leading Sabine along a lane on the village outskirts, both of them wearing simple pullovers and dark jeans, a small pack slung over the dog's shoulder. What had her on edge was that neither of them had a lead; no-one had reacted yet, but a tiny little voice at the back of her mind insisted it was only a matter of time.

Once they'd slipped past a gate and into a fairly compact field, a high hedge dotted with trees shielding them from the lane, it began to fade away, her tail stilling. Now she could finally appreciate a finer day than was normal so early in Spring, the skies blue with loose scatterings of soft white clouds, a light breeze with only a hint of chill tousling her fur and clothes, birds flitting and trilling energetically in the bushes.

The ground was still a little soft underfoot, patches of standing water here and there, but they tracked their way across easily enough, up to a stile half-buried in a tumble of brambles.

Sabine frowned. “I'm almost tempted to risk the bullocks.”

Cin started tentatively easing strands of bramble aside. “I'd still take a few scratches over being suffocated by a herd of cows with no sense of personal space, thank you very much.”

“Says the cat who treats other people like mattresses,” Sabine teased, tweaking a feline ear.

“There's only one of me,” Cinna rebutted, “and I'm a dainty little ball of fluff. No weight at all.”

“I wonder if Ian would agree.” The dobermann collected a stick from close by and used it to brush aside the bulk of the bramble fronds.

Enough room now made, Cin hopped over the stile. Sabine was quick to follow, only for the cat to snatch the stick and lob it away. “Fetch!”

The dog crossed her arms and cocked a brow. “Really?”

Cinna shrugged, grinning. “Worth a try.” Her gaze wandered along the two dirt-and-grass paths that split off from the stile to furrow through woods that managed to be quite dense even with hardly any leaves on the trees and bushes, one after the other, then returned to the dog, to find them holding the stick again. Her grin widened.

“Hey, it's not like I'm going to _eat_ it,” they defended themselves, with a mildly sheepish smile. “I just think they're useful.”

“Fair enough.” Cin chuckled. “Where do you think we should start?”

Sabine's response was to close her eyes and lift her nose, her nostrils flexing. After a minute or so, she subsided to a crouch, casting around low to the ground. “I _might_ have her,” she reported, “but it's old, and there are a few other, newer fox scents confusing things.” She lowered her nose right to the floor, then pointed to the right fork. “I _think_ it's going that way. Hopefully things clear up so I can get a better sniff.”

Cinna frowned, worried. “Old scents are not reassuring.”

Sabine squeezed the cat's shoulder. “Don't give up before we've even gotten started.” She led the way down the path she'd indicated, being careful to step around puddles and muddy patches, frequently pausing to check the scents, before finally a small smile grew. “It's her. I'd say she came along here three-ish weeks ago.” The smile faltered. “There's a tinge of blood; an injury; caught her ankle, perhaps; and she's young; just into adolescence; and scared; _so_ scared.” Her jaw tightened. “We _have_ to find her.”

After an hour of searching the woods, though, the most recent scent they'd found was from two weeks prior, and Cin's spirits were flagging badly. She and Sabine stopped to rest in a small, oval clearing, sitting on a fallen, moss-streaked log, the cat's ears low, her face resting in her hands and her elbows on her knees.

“At what point,” she wondered, leadenly, “do we accept she's dead?”

“Not yet.” Sabine was firm. “Still a lot of woods to cover.” She looped an arm around the cat to hug them, and nosed their scalp. “I know it looks bleak right now, but it looked even bleaker for me two years ago, and I survived. She will too, if we've anything to say about it.”

Cin almost managed a smile. “Care to tell me more?”

“I think I can manage it.” Sabine took a breath. “My first owner was a brute, a hard-muscled tough guy who thought every problem could be solved by punching and spent most of his waking hours drunk or high on something. He was after a big, scary, nasty dog, and when he saw me, a dobermann, practising what he thought was karate, he bought me on the spot.” She gave a dry chuckle. “It was actually tai chi. I find it calming.

“It didn't take him long to realise I wasn't actually what he wanted, so he decided to beat me into shape. Literally. I was hit, starved, shouted at, locked into a bare stone room for hours on end, slashed with a flick knife” – she pointed to her facial scar – “and chained outside at night in the rain, or the snow, with no shelter and no clothes. It was a living nightmare, and it very nearly killed me.”

Cin, pale with horror, returned the dog's hug, cuddling close. “I don't even...how...how could you get through that?”

“Romance books.” Sabine was almost smirking. “I had a secret stash I could delve into on those rare occasions he left me alone, and escape for a while. A couple of times he caught me with a book, and ripped it up, but he never found the stash. The tai chi helped, too. Even then I barely kept it together.

“It ended when he ran out of money for his drugs. People who made him look pleasant began visiting, and before long he'd fled, leaving me locked in the stone room. I was found three days later, on the verge of death by dehydration, when his landlord came for rent. I ended up in a rescue centre, a ragged, broken shell no-one wanted.”

“Except Abigail.”

“Except Abigail. She'd been in a car crash, t-boned by a drunk driver, and left permanently paralysed from the waist down. She came to the rescue centre looking for a companion, someone to help stave off the dark thoughts, and for some reason I will never understand, of all the AnthroPets there, she picked me.”

“Saw past the scarred surface to the sweetheart inside.” Cin brushed her face against the dog's. “And look at you now.”

Sabine kissed the cat's nose. “Exactly. It wasn't easy, but Abby never gave up, no matter how hopeless it seemed, and we're not gonna give up on your young fox. She's out there, in the woods, and we're gonna help her. Agreed?” She held out a hand.

Cinna gripped it. “Agreed.”

For very nearly another hour they searched diligently, until Sabine lit on a fresher scent, from only a week or so prior. It was at the edge of a particularly overgrown and forgotten section of the woods, where the paths were barely visible. Carefully exploring the area, Sabine's stick proving handy, they picked up ever-fresher traces, right up to one that couldn't have been more than a day old, in the shade of a hazel bush.

On the other side of the bush, almost completely surrounded by thick foliage, was a small, clear pool. Across from them, some twenty feet away, was a little open, bare patch, and sitting in it, her feet lapped by the wind-stirred waters, a struggling wild rabbit held up in front of her face, was the young vixen.

Cin frowned with worry at the sight of her. Her rose-pink fur, paling very nearly to white on throat, chest, stomach and tail-tip, was for the most part clean and neat, if dull, but covered a body far thinner than it should have been, shoulders and hips too sharp, ribs showing clearly, face drawn in and eyes red-rimmed, an ugly streak of scar tissue on the side of one shin.

She opened her muzzle wide, and angled the rabbit so her jaws were either side of its neck. Once, twice, three times they tightened briefly, teeth dimpling tawny fur, but never fully bit, then with a wrench and a cry she flung the rabbit away; it tumbled in the mud, then scrambled into the undergrowth. The fox clutched at her face and sobbed.

Cat and dog shared a look, exchanged nods, then the former cleared her throat. The young vixen started, snatching a sharpened stick from a stand of bracken and brandishing it threateningly, terror etched into her face as she stared at them.

“We're friends,” Cin assured them, keeping her voice soft and even.

“We brought food,” Sabine added, slipping the bag from her shoulder and holding it up.

The fox-girl's eyes snapped wide, her nose quivered, the stick slipped to the ground, then she lunged forward, crashing through the water so fast she was on them before they could react. She grabbed the bag so eagerly she knocked Sabine over, and sat on the dog as she tore into it, pulling out a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich and shoving it wholesale into her muzzle.

“Easy!” Cin pleaded, holding up a hand. “Don't choke yourself.”

Tall, tapered ears flushed, and the vixen slipped from Sabine to sit in the shallows, nibbling much more carefully on the next sandwich, pale blue eyes cast down. “I'm...sorry.” Her voice was a faint rasp. “Haven't eaten...in two days...and that was...a leftover salad leaf.”

“It's all right,” Sabine told them, sitting up. “No harm done.”

The fox-girl's gaze lifted, to look at the cat. “How's the... little girl?”

“Doing well,” Cin answered. “She still asks about you.”

Vulpine ears dropped. “I didn't know...she was following me...until I'd reached the woods...and then the blizzard hit. I'm glad you found her, or I don't know...what I would have done.”

The cat fought an urge to embrace them. “If it helps, you crossing the field behind my house very likely saved her life.”

A very small, wan smile grew. “It was the quickest way.” She finished the second sandwich, pulled out a third, sniffed it, and recoiled, tongue sticking out. “Peanut butter? Really?”

“Hey, it's delicious,” Sabine protested.

“Then you eat it!” The vixen lobbed it at the dog, who caught it, then grabbed the last one from the bag. “Raspberry jam! Much better!”

Cinna let out a relieved breath. “I think she likes us. No more fear of a pointy stick to the eye.”

The fox-girl looked rueful. “I couldn't have used it. I couldn't even kill that rabbit, and I was starving. Some fox I am.”

Sabine risked shifting a little closer. “A little secret – I'd have been the same. Can't even kill flies.”

The vixen's head cocked as she laughed. “A big tough dog like you?”

“And _I_ ,” Cin joined in, “couldn't kill a mouse. And I'm a _cat_. I think the scientists engineered the killer instinct out of us.”

Shuddering, the fox-girl huddled into herself. “I don't wanna go back.”

“Why not?” Cinna asked, gently.

“Cold. Empty. Lonely. No parents. No brothers or sisters. No-one to talk to, or play with, or cuddle with, or sleep with. It was horrible.”

The cat frowned deeply, also moving a little closer, and reaching out a hand to lightly touch the vixen's knee. “You're not alone any more.”

The vixen stared at her a moment, then the widest smile yet bloomed and she darted forward to give both the others brief, coy nuzzles. “You wanna know how I escaped?” she asked, a little mischief filtering in.

Dog and cat nodded.

“Pure...dumb...luck.” The fox-girl giggled. “The stupid white coats got into an argument, and forgot to close the door of my cell, so I sneaked past them and went looking for the way out. It got pretty scary when they started chasing me, and _really_ scary when one started shooting at me with sleepy darts.” She shuddered again. “But I got into the back of a truck as it was leaving, and got away. It took me to a farm, I ran the first chance I got, and after a lot of days ended up here.”

“Any idea how long you've been here?” Sabine asked.

“Seen three big moons,” the vixen replied.

“So about a month and a half, then,” Cin estimated. “I'm amazed you survived so long.”

They flapped a hand. “If you call raiding bins and bristling your tail at every noise and huddling in a tree stump at night and gashing your leg when you fall off a wall onto a broken crate 'surviving'. The only good thing about this is the pool.”

“It _is_ a lovely spot,” the cat agreed. “But would you rather be here or in a clean, warm bed, with a roof over your head?”

“Of course I...” The fox-girl faltered, eyes widening, jaw hanging. “You mean...? You're saying...?”

“I'm saying, my owner is willing to take you in. You'll have a bed, and food, and company, and all you need to do in return is a chore here or there, join in the weekly card games, and let an overly-affectionate cat snuggle with you at least once a day because she thinks you're one of the _cutest_ things she's ever _oof_!”

Cinna was cut off by a projectile vixen hitting her amidships, bowling her over and peppering her face with kisses.

Sabine roared. “That's a yes!”

Cin sat back up, pressed her lips to the bridge of the fox-girl's muzzle, and cradled her lightly. “Now we just need to figure out how to get you home unseen. Until we can be sure the scientists aren't going to be a problem, only trusted people can know about you.”

“I can meet you there,” the vixen told her, tail high, eyes bright.

“Bullocks,” Sabine stated, simply.

“I can!” the fox-girl insisted, starting to pout a little.

“No, I mean, there's a herd of cows in the field behind Cin's house.”

“Oh.” The vixen sagged. “I don't like cows, and they don't like me.”

“What if you go after dark?” Sabine suggested. “When everyone's in bed, so no eyes to see?”

“That's a plan,” Cinna agreed, nodding. “We can leave a window open for you. Wait till the moon's good and high, then come, all right?”

“All right!” The fox-girl beamed, tears in her eyes. “Thank you!”

“Our pleasure.” Cin nudged noses. “See you again very soon.”

Late that night, the cat and her owner sat side-by-side on their couch, eyes fixed on a nearby open window. Something rustled softly outside it, then two small pink hands gripped the sill, and a pointed, pink and white head rose into view. A pause, a shining grin, and the rest of the young vixen slipped inside.

Ian gasped softly. “Cinna was right; you're lovely! Much too thin, but lovely. Welcome to our humble home. I'm Ian. You are?”

The fox-girl, her fur scrubbed and combed, curtsied politely. “Lily.”

Cin closed the window, then draped an arm around their shoulders to lead them upstairs. “You can have my bed; I'll be with Ian.”

Vulpine ears tinted. “Can I...can I...sleep with you two?”

The cat studied her for a moment, looked to the man following them, who nodded with a smile, then nosed her cheek. “All right.”

Entering the main bedroom, Ian undressed, he and Cinna slipped into bed, then the young vixen, a little self-consciously, nestled in between the pair. She nuzzle kissed both of them, then closed her eyes and in seconds was fast asleep.

“You know, we just might have started something here,” Ian noted, as he and Cin caressed lips.

“If we're lucky,” the cat murmured, tenderly brushing a kiss onto Lily's scalp, “a family.”


	12. Warrior Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the power of a young girl's imagination, even the simplest of errands can become an epic quest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this one's experimental. And silly. Very silly.

Lily squared her shoulders. Freshly made a Warrior of the Village, the youngest ever, and with the Champion in a faraway land, she had been given a difficult quest indeed, and was determined to see it through. If she were to fail, if she were to return empty-handed, the all-powerful Tiger Queen, Mrrowl, would be unable to cast her spell, and the village would suffer untold woes.

Mrrowl, tall, beautiful, noble, wise, and most ginger in all the Greene Shires, blessed her with a kiss on the brow; she bowed deep, then took up her mighty sword, Karrdring, and took her leave of the village, tail and head held high, face set firm, purpose in her stride. This was to be her greatest moment, her finest hour, her rise to the rank of Hero.

_Cin watched with a fond smile as the young pink vixen, a cardboard tube in hand, an adorably fierce expression on their face, pushed the bedroom door open and strode through. “Good luck on your quest, O Great Warrior. And try not to_ _ break anything _ .”

Before Lily stretched the treacherous pass of Llhan'din, leading to the dangerous descent of Speeralh Steppes. A most fearsome guardian, a monster so foul it was known to all as the Dread Beast of Aaiiee, stood between the Warrior and the Steppes, ready and waiting to snare her in its terrible grasp, and devour her whole.

Forwards she strode, Karrdring held ready, one determined step after another along the pass, until the Steppes loomed before her. A figure blocked the way, sandy of fur, huge pools of eyes, long, long, ears and an endless smile. It looked so harmless, so friendly, so welcoming, but as soon as the Warrior was close enough, it lunged.

Lily dodged, swinging Karrdring towards its flank, a driving blow, but the Beast twisted away from it then swiped at her again. She ducked and rolled and jabbed, but the blow glanced off the sheer rock wall of the pass. The Beast's great claws nicked her ear as she flung herself to one side, then as it closed in, she drove Karrdring straight into its awful heart. It roared, and shook, and fell. Triumphant, the Warrior moved on, down the Speerahl Steppes.

_Hazel, sprawled across the landing at the top of the stairs, glowered playfully at the young vixen as they descended, bent cardboard tube held high. “Next time, I'm the Champion, and Ian's the monster.”_

Lily, spirits buoyed, reached the end of the Steppes, and gazed across the vast plains of Lithin Raowm. Far, far ahead rose the great plateau of Sewfahr Ridge, and atop it, impossibly tall, impossibly strong, rested the single greatest warrior in all the lands, a swordsperson beyond all compare, Sabego Mondoba.

Across the plains the Warrior struck, forging a tireless path, until she stood, at last, in the shadow of the ridge. Mondoba rose, barring the way, their ears seeming to touch the sky, and drew their sword. Biting back her fear, Lily lifted Karrdring, and the fight was joined. It was fast and it was fierce, with flashes of Bonetty, Capé Foxo and Kibbolt, and a switch of hands from both combatants, and at one point it seemed as if Mondoba was too strong, as if the Warrior's quest was done, but she found one last surge of strength and slashed Karrdring across their leg.

Sabego Mondoba unbalanced, and toppled, and fell across the ridge, and found a sword pointed at their throat; they conceded defeat to the superior fighter, pleading only to be left in peace. Lily withdrew with a respectful nod to her fallen foe, and left them behind, her goal in sight and her heart soaring.

_Sabine, spread-eagled on her back across the couch, a battered and bent cardboard tube in one hand, eyes sparkling, watched the young vixen approach the bookcase, brandishing an even more battered and bent cardboard tube dramatically and grinning manically. “I'll have to practice more; you're getting too good!”_

The Warrior had reached the Great Library. She scoured the towering shelves, and soon, she found her prize, the Legendary Tome, a book so powerful that in the hands of the Tiger Queen it could bring peace and joy to all. Bearing it proudly, Lily crossed the plains again, climbed the Steppes, traversed the pass, and finally, glowing with triumph, entered her Village. Her home.

The Tiger Queen showered her with praise, lauded her to the ends of the earth, declared her a Hero indeed. Then they drew her close, held her against their incomparably ginger fur, and began to read from the Tome, their voice a melodic spell. The Hero smiled beatifically, lost in the golden glow of success.

“ _The mole had been working hard all the morning,” Cinna read, one hand holding the book, the other stroking Lily's belly as the fox rested against her, “spring-cleaning his little home...”_


	13. Conventional Wisdom - Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The random adventures of orange tabby AnthroPet Cinnamon, Cin or Cinna for short, and the human, Ian, (un)fortunate enough to 'own' her.
> 
> Cin, Hazel, Sabine, Lapis/Leslie, Sheavah/Verity and Jan all head to a furry convention, and a serious, defining confrontation with Eric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative version of this chapter available in many other places. Sexually intimate scenes at the beginning and the end. Please refrain from crude comments.

Cinnamon started awake as the alarm clock on the table by her side of the bed began beeping insistently; a hand fumbled to quiet it, then she shifted heavily to a sitting position, resting against the headboard, ears low, hands clenching slightly. She took a long breath, blinked blearily at the bright red digits on the clock that read 6:00am, rubbed her eyes, stretched and yawned untidily, scratched her left flank, then turned to take in the other occupants of the bed.

Ian was still sleeping, but Lily, snug in his arms, her back to his front, was just stirring, her expression drowsily confused.

Cin cocked her head. “Problem?”

“His peen's all stiff, and poking me in the bum,” the girl answered. “I thought peens only got stiff for sex.”

Cinna blinked, then chuckled, ruffing the fox-girl's scalp. “They can go stiff for no reason, too, sometimes. It's nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Lily smiled, working herself free of the man's embrace and sitting with legs wide between him and Cin. “It's Ian's.”

The cat smiled back, then her head began to lilt to one side. Then she gave it a shake. “No; it's silly.”

Ian's eyes flickered open as she finished speaking. “What's silly?”

“Nothing,” Cin insisted, not looking at him.

Ian shifted closer to the cat, ending up lying between Lily's legs with his head resting on the vixen's belly, and reached out to lay a hand on the feline's shoulder. “Cinna...”

She exhaled, then moved to straddle his hips, one hand resting on his chest, her haunches held just high enough that, when her other hand lifted his still-erect penis, the tip brushed her vulva. “I dreamt that Eric had caught me, and was taunting me about being the first to penetrate me.” She shuddered. “And he wouldn't be gentle. The chances of him being the first are _tiny_ , I know that, but the fear of it won't go away, so I just thought...maybe I should make sure he isn't.”

“Oh, Cin...” Ian caressed her cheek; she leaned into it. “That's not silly at all. If it helps, maybe you should. Although...” A wry colour tingeing his smile, his eyes rolled up. “Might want to be sure Lily's comfortable with this, first.”

The young vixen nodded energetically, leaning forwards as far as she could, her modest swells of breasts pressed against the man's scalp. “I don't think this'll be as icky and stinky and loud and painful as the stuff I saw in the labs.”

Cinna smiled affectionately at both of them. “Far from it.”

Ian's hands cradling her rear, the cat began easing herself lower, her lips dimpling, then spreading to admit the head of his penis. Her eyes sliding closed, her mouth opening slightly, she paused to set her hands together on his chest, then continued to slowly, softly descend. Three times faint flickers of discomfort showed on her face, and three times Ian's grip on her rear tightened just enough to still her until it passed.

The last twinges were less faint, and lingered long enough for him to suggest, concerned, they stop there and then, but Cin firmly shook her head, took some settling breaths, and sank the last little way to sitting on his hips. All of his penis nestled inside her passage, her lips curving around its base, a look of pure bliss spread across her face, and a tear trickled down her cheek.

She leaned in to kiss Ian deeply. “Thank you.”

“A pleasure and an honour,” he assured her, lovingly. “I hope it feels as good for you as it does for me.”

Lily stared at where they joined, greatly curious. “How _does_ it feel?”

“Nice,” Cinna answered. “Like a really warm, tingly, snug little hug. If I could, I'd stay like this a while.” She loosed a humorously exaggerated sigh. “But I have to get ready.” Her smile grew at one end. “Would you mind us doing this again, next time you happen to feel a little stiff?”

“Not at all.” Ian helped her lift herself off, made use of some tissues in a box on his bedside table, and shared another kiss with her.

Cin then slid from the bed and knelt to check the contents of a small suitcase, though keeping the others in view. Lily gazed thoughtfully at Ian's gradually softening penis for some time, her head and ears tilting back and forth, a range of expressions passing across her face. Then, a little abruptly, she moved out from under him, and lay down with her head propped up on one pillow and her haunches another, staring at her petite, well-defined vulva, and brushing it with a finger.

Finally, she tentatively dipped the digit between her labia, and almost immediately winced; her face set firm. “Still don't want it.”

“Not ever?” Ian asked, rolling onto his side, and petting her belly, not worrying about avoiding the delicate, pastel nipples dotting it.

“Well, _maybe_ when I'm older and bigger.” She snickered. “A whole lot bigger.” She lifted her finger from her vulva, then laid her hand over it, protectively. “And it won't hurt so much.”

“Good thinking!” Cin approved, zipping up the case. She crossed to a tall wardrobe. “Your body, your rules.”

“And if anyone tries to say otherwise,” Ian told the fox-girl, his voice serious, “they'll have the Champion and the Tiger Queen to deal with.”

Eyes tearing up, Lily nuzzled kissed his face. “Thank you.” Then she let out a giggle. “But Hazel's Champion now.”

The man pouted. “Can't there be more than one? Not sure I'd make a very good monster, after all.”

“That's for the Queen to decide.”

Cinna laid a sleeping bag, a second bundled inside it, on the end of the bed, and rubbed her muzzle. “Well...since I, the Champion and the World's Greatest Swordsperson will be in a faraway land for a while, it would be a prudent measure. A Warrior, after all, is at their strongest fighting alongside allies.” She solemnly laid a hand on Ian's shoulder. “I your Queen dub thee _Sir_ Ian, mighty Champion of whatever the village is called this week.”

“I solemnly vow to protect the village and all who dwell in it with my very life,” Ian intoned, dramatically. “And provide the Warrior with all the belly rubs she may desire.”

Lily beamed. “And cheesecake!”

Cin tapped the fox-girl's nose. “Only if you're _very_ good.” She hugged them tightly, and shared a press of muzzles. “You go back to sleep, and I'll see you on Monday, with lots of photos, and _maybe_ a special treat if I can find something nice.”

A beatific Lily burrowed under the sheets, curled up, and was quickly slumbering again.

Ian patted the rounded lump. “I envy her that ability.”

“You and me both.” Cinna moved to collect a stack of neatly-folded clothes from the top of the chest of drawers. “I'm going to wash up.”

The man grabbed a robe. “And I'll get a little breakfast ready.”

Fifteen minutes later an impeccably-groomed, if slightly damp, feline sat at the kitchen counter, dressed in a knee-length russet skirt and an off-white, sleeveless, halter-neck top. One foot tapping restlessly, she nibbled at a small meal, while Ian looked on sympathetically.

“Nerves kicking in, hm?” he asked.

“Starting to feel more real, now, yes.” Cin's eyes flicked to the door, a twitch developing in the tip of her tail. “Twenty minutes.”

“Try to find something to focus on,” Ian suggested. “A distraction.”

The cat's eyes roamed for a while, eventually settling on the closest window to her. It looked out on a narrow sliver of garden, and a thick stretch of hedge largely made of hazel bushes. Right across from the window, she could see a small branch hanging broken; it was a random thing, but it niggled at her. Something didn't feel quite right.

Breakfast complete, curiosity drove her to leave the house and take a closer look. Her unease deepened on noticing tiny strands of material, wool perhaps, clinging to the recently snapped branch. Pushing it and others to one side she peered inside the hedge, and ice began to creep through her veins; there was a hollow, and plentiful signs of activity.

A sliver of a gap opposite was fringed with broken and bent branches, more strands of material dusting them; the dark soil was compressed by layers of footprints; half-a-dozen torn snack wrappers were littered about; two cigarettes lay half-smoked; a broken stub of a pencil jutted out of the soil, clearly trodden into it at some point; a soda bottle was lodged in the branches to the left, half-empty, the cap missing; a wad of scrunched-up paper was trodden into the ground near the back of the area; a trio of small, sharp indents in the earth formed a triangle of decent size; and a scent suffused the area, one that set her hissing, her ears flat back and her tail lashing.

Cinna rushed back inside and up to Ian, grabbing his arm. “We have a _serious_ problem.”

“What?” the man asked, worry creasing his brow.

“Eric,” she growled. “The bastard's been spying on us.”

“What?!” Horror blended with fury. “ _How_?!”

“A hollow in the hedge. He's been hiding in there, with a scope or a camera, watching us, for at least a week.”

Ian sagged onto a stool. “Which means he knows about Lily; likely has _film_ of Lily.”

Cinna nodded, her grip shifting to a hug. “Which means she isn't safe here any more. They could come any day. They could come _today_.”

“So we get her out of here.” He grimaced. “But we _can't_ , because he's picked the one time _everyone's_ away. We're...”

Cin silenced him with a kiss. “Not yet. We're close to getting Dr Falke to talk, right?”

“Very. They could spill any day now.”

“Then I've an idea. It's crazy, but it's all we've got.” The cat breathed deep. “I'll take her to the con. Smuggle her in, somehow. Hide her in my room. You stonewall any scientists that knock on the door, and do all you can to get Falke on record.”

Ian's frown deepened with doubt. “You really think you can hide her from your _room-mates_?”

“No. I'll have to trust them. _We'll_ have to trust them.”

“What if they refuse?”

“I don't think they will, but if they _do_...” Cin gave a bitter chuckle. “We all go hide in the woods.” She kissed him again. “I'll get her ready.”

When the knock came at the door, a little over ten minutes later, the cat was sitting on the couch, cradling a scared but determined Lily, the young vixen wearing small plum-coloured shorts and a matching crop top, under a long, white open shirt. Ian answered, letting in Verity and Hazel, the rabbit immediately rushing to the cat and the fox, the young woman staring in utter bewilderment.

“That's the fox from the news,” she stated, bluntly.

“Yes,” Cinna confirmed.

“The one that shady lab wants back.”

“Yes.”

“And they've found out you have her.”

“Almost certainly, yes.”

“And you need to spirit her away.”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Verity turned on her heel and left. After two minutes of taut anxiety, she returned. “If you can find a way to hide her in the car, and she keeps her head down at the hotel, we'll take her with us.”

Cin physically sagged with relief. “Thank you. I promise we'll tell you everything when we're safe in our room.” She nuzzled Lily. “Go to your hiding spot, sweetie.”

The fox-girl nodded once and slipped from the cat's arms to pad over to where the case and nested sleeping bags were set ready. She pulled the outer bag open and slipped quickly and smoothly inside it, tucking herself beneath the inner one and curling up tightly.

“It's not perfect,” Cinna admitted. “But if she keeps still, it should do.”

Verity sighed. “I certainly can't think of anything better. Let's go.”

Ian grabbed the case, Hazel and Cin lifted the sleeping bags, and they all followed the young woman outside. Two cars, her hatchback and a larger red one with Jan at the wheel, Leslie in the passenger seat, and the back seats folded down to accommodate a mass of luggage, were parked in the lane, the sky was painted with milky-grey clouds, and a restless little wind nipped at their clothes.

Cin's case was loaded with the rest in Jan's car, and the sleeping bags laid on top of everything. A little, whiskered muzzle peeked out, Cinna kissed it lovingly, then it retreated and the boot was closed. The feline shared a long, intimate hug and kiss with Ian, then got into the back of Verity's car, where Sabine was waiting. Her gaze remained fixed on Ian standing at their gate until the lane curved and he vanished from view.

The three-hour journey passed pleasantly enough, with conversation and scenery-watching and music, but the tension never entirely faded, and it swelled anew as they reached the city the convention was taking place in. It was huge and brash and noisy and colourful and thronging with life and all too much for the cat.

Arrival at the hotel, a fairly large, roughly C-shaped red brick building with a great sweep of glass for an entrance, brought both a peak in the nerves, but also a spike of excitement, only increased by the sight of a group of suiters, both partial and full, messing about in the paved plaza filling the hollow of the C, among them a familiar curvaceous feline in a generous, bright blue bikini.

They parked up in adjacent spaces, and as they set to unloading Jan's car, Ginger came barrelling towards them, three other suiters close on their heels – a german shepherd with a lei, a toffee-coloured gryphon with a yellow beak and blue Hawaiian shorts, and a maroon and white weasel with heterochromatic eyes and a strip of gold cloth slung about her hips, tied in a smart bow on the left one.

Ginger gave ecstatic hugs to everyone, the shepherd and the gryphon friendly ones before running back to the plaza, and the weasel's were light but warm, except for when she came to Verity; the embrace they shared was long and full and alive with laughter and rocking.

“You made it!” the young woman cheered.

“Told ya they couldn't keep me away.” The weasel sprang back, laying her hands on her hips. “Gonna introduce me to ya Pet pals?”

Still laughing, Verity turned to the others. “Cinna, Sabine, Hazel, allow me to introduce my sister in all but blood and living proof that weasels can be seriously sexy, Lacey.”

The mustelid cackled, flapping a hand. “Naw, I'm not that much.”

Cinna had to disagree. The form-fitting nature of their suit flattered a sleek, beautifully-proportioned figure, and there was a confidence and spark in their manner, and a silky grace to their movements, that made them difficult to look away from. That the face was full of mischievous charm didn't hurt, either.

“That's a lovely suit,” she complimented.

“Thanks!” Lacey twirled in place. “Made it myself. It's no match for a pro-suit, but it works for me! Wanna know my favourite part?”

“Those cute little handpaw-gloves were always mine,” Verity chimed in, hefting two chunky cases. “Proper, nimble woozle mitts.”

“Close, but no cigar. Try again!”

Jan paused in unloading luggage just long enough to lift her compact tube tail and pat her on the rump. Lacey giggle-squealed and jumped, her hands going to her face; then she span toward the artist, her fists bunched on her hips, the eyebrows of her suit head now angled down, in a deep and disapproving frown.

“No touchin' the suiters without warning.” She shook her head. “The _cheek_ of some people.”

“Something tells me it's the eyebrows,” Cinna laughed, taking charge of her small case.

“Ding-ding-ding!” Lacey plucked her eyebrows off, then set them back in their original, cheery position. “We have a winner! Pain to get right, but oh, so worth it.”

She skipped in front of the group as, cars locked, they headed for the hotel entrance, all carrying at least one piece of luggage, Sabine taking charge of the sleeping bags. Cin, anxiety swelling again, was very glad of the distraction the ebullient weasel provided, especially when they sprang into sitting on a willing Ginger's shoulders, pretending to pilot the big cat by turning their ears.

The lobby, a large space with a high ceiling and beach-themed posters and banners bearing the con's title scattered about, bustled with furs, many in a suit of some variety, many queuing at the registration desk, many conversing, or chasing each other, or goofing around with a wide selection of plush props, or hugging and play-wrestling, or posing for photographs. The energy in the room was palpable, and infectious.

The only sour note, for Cinna, was the king cheetah. The suit itself, a tall, muscular, digitigrade, richly-coloured, semi-realistic one with large claws, glowing eyes and moving jaw, was seriously impressive, but the knowledge of who was inside it – the tail was a dead giveaway – offset that completely. He wasn't really moving, he had a limited selection of poses, mostly power ones, but still people gathered around him.

“Eric's suiting sums him up,” Leslie murmured to the cat, as the group joined the registration queue. “No imagination. Lacey and Ginger run circles around him.”

“Sometimes literally!” the weasel chirped. “He doesn't like that.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Know what else he doesn't like?”

“Do tell!” Cin encouraged.

“This!” Lacey mimicked his current dramatic warrior pose, legs spread with a realistic prop longsword planted point down in front of him, but using an inflatable banana, instead, and her eyebrows placed to make her look deeply dazed, tongue hanging from the side of her muzzle.

The cat spluttered with laughter. “You can move your tongue, too?”

“Velcro,” the weasel explained, succinctly, shifting position as Eric did, though while he held his sword menacingly across his face, she looked like she was clouting herself in the muzzle with the banana. “And if you think _I_ look silly, just imagine how _he_ looks right now.”

Laughing louder, Cin could easily picture the bristling fury behind the luminous eyes staring their way. Then a pulse of worry shot through her. “Will he come over?”

“Nah.” Lacey shook her head. “He'll just take off in a huff.”

One more pose, a low flourish of the sword that the weasel reworked into a smack in the groin, her eyebrows scrunched up in pain, was all it took for Eric to do exactly that, turning on his heel and marching out of the lobby, blade left behind. Lacey bounded over to collect it, bringing it back and offering it to Verity.

“Show us some _real_ moves, Sheavah!” she practically begged.

“I thought you wielded a staff, not a sword?” Sabine's head cocked in confusion.

“Sheavah _prefers_ a staff, being a druid,” Verity explained, taking a few steps away, others making room for her, “but having another weapon in the arsenal is always a good idea, and well...” She ran through a set of quick, precise movements and poses, prop sword flashing, finishing with its point just a couple of inches from the dobermann's nose. “She found the blade agreed with her.”

Cheers and applause rang out, and not just from the group, Lacey the loudest of all. Verity bowed, blushing a little, then handed the sword back to its original owner and rejoined the queue. Behind her, Hazel's muzzle creased in a frown.

“Are you sure,” she asked the weasel, “annoying Eric's a good idea?”

“No,” Lacey admitted, engaged in a playful tug-o-war over the banana with a coyote sporting a bright snaggle-toothed grin, “but it's fun!”

“Maybe you ought to tone it down,” Jan suggested. “A thermonuclear Eric would be fun for no-one.”

The weasel sagged, and nodded. “Good point, well made.” She waved the coyote and their bright yellow prize off. “I think I'm gonna take five in my room, but I'll see all of ya at the A-Pet panel, okay?”

With Lacey gone, and Ginger busy elsewhere in the room, the anxiety ratcheted up anew. By the time they reached the registration counter Cin was quivering with worry, almost physically so, half-convinced Lily would be discovered and they'd all be turfed out of the hotel, maybe even arrested. Fortunately, the registration staff appeared to read her twitchy behaviour purely as first-time nerves, for they were given their conbooks, badges and room key-cards with no problems, no questions and sympathetic smiles.

They rode a lift up to the first floor and threaded along a trio of busy corridors to reach their room. Verity slipped the card into the lock, the door clicked open, and they filed inside. All the luggage was carefully arranged in one corner bar the sleeping bags, which were laid on one of the double beds. After a couple of tense, silent minutes had passed, Cin rested a hand on them.

“You can come out now, Lil. It's safe.”

A pink muzzle peeped out, then the rest of the head followed. “I need a pee. Bad.”

“En suite's right there,” Verity told her, pointing.

As the young vixen scurried to relieve herself, Jan and Leslie watched on in amazement.

“I see it,” the former breathed, “but I don't believe it. A _pink_ fox.”

Leslie pinched herself. “Nope. Not dreaming.”

“Feel free to start explaining,” Verity prompted.

Cin perched on the edge of one of the beds and did just that, trying to keep things brief. Part way through Lily reappeared, and leant against her, their tail curled around their legs. When the cat related what had happened that morning, they huddled even closer, hiding their face in her breasts; she stroked their back. Once she was finished, a weighted silence filled the room.

Eventually, Jan broke it. “I knew Eric was slime, but...”

“How?” Sabine burst out. “How did he know where you live?”

“The bookshop,” Hazel posited. “He saw you volunteering there, and guessed you had to be owned by someone who worked there. He just had to check the website to get their names, and well...”

“Process of elimination.” Verity's face was stony. “What makes you so sure he's selling you out to the rogue scientists?”

“You really think he can resist the reward?” Cin asked.

“Fair point,” the young woman conceded, “but there's something he'd quite possibly want more: you.”

“And if he does have footage of Lily,” Jan followed on, “he's got strong leverage. He could use it to...to...”

“To blackmail me into 'helping him with his research'.” Cin swallowed thickly. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“Then sell it, anyway,” Verity concluded. “Get you _and_ the money.”

“How long do we think he's had the footage?” Leslie asked.

“Well, from the scent, the last time he spied on us was late yesterday afternoon,” Cin answered. “And the broken branch was pulled back, so I think it got snagged on the camera as he cleared out in a hurry. He's quite possibly only had the footage half a day.”

Verity's eyes twitched as her mind whirred. “So, if he only got it at the last minute, and had to hurry here, he might not have been able to get it off the camera card...”

“So if we could snag the card,” Sabine continued.

“We could stop him,” Jan finished.

“ _But_ ,” Hazel cautioned, “he'll probably keep it buried in his room until he needs it.”

“Anyone else, I'd agree,” Leslie responded, “but Eric's cocky enough to want to flaunt it. To savour the power he thinks he has over you.”

Verity's eyes widened. “Maybe we can _make him_ flaunt it.”

Cinna's head cocked. “And what? Snatch it from him? Doubt the con staff'll like that.”

“At the very least, we'll know where he keeps it,” Verity persisted. “If we're lucky, one of us will get a chance to take it when no-one's paying attention. Or, maybe a clumsy suiter happens to stumble into him as he's showing the card off, and knocks it flying.”

“I really doubt the first one would work,” Leslie commented, “but the second just might, with the right suiter, which isn't me.”

“Lacey,” Verity averred. “She'd be perfect.”

“Can we trust her?” Cin asked.

“Once, when filming a vlog, she inadvertently caught a certain kobold doing something really embarrassing in a corridor as they were on the way back from a particularly lively room party. She not only removed the footage from her vlog, but also gave said kobold the only copy. It's now securely locked away never to be seen by another living soul. We can trust her.”

“Why didn't you delete the footage?” Sabine had to ask.

“A permanent reminder never to be so dumb again.” Verity gave a dry smile, which quickly softened. “Also a memento of our first meeting.”

“Will she be at the panel?” Hazel wanted to know.

Verity nodded. “Filming it. Why?”

“Because it feels like a good opportunity,” the rabbit explained. “Eric's surely going to be there, after all.”

“A panel on AnthroPets, featuring an actual A-pet scientist? Oh, he'll be there, all right.” Jan nodded. “It could be a _golden_ opportunity.”

“Once we've unpacked, I'll go talk to Lacey,” Verity decided. Her gaze settled on Cin. “I can keep things vague, or I can tell her everything; it's your choice.”

The cat thought for quite some time, her eyes mostly on the fox-girl in her arms, then finally gave a single, short nod. “Tell her everything; it's better she knows exactly what she's getting into.”

“All right.” Verity reached out to press the feline's hand. “She'll keep it all a secret, I promise. After all, she's kept her human identity a secret for two years, now. Even I don't know it.”

“Really?” Cin's ears perked. “Not even seen her face?”

“Never takes the head off around others, or on camera. You want to know why, best ask her.”

“I just might. You said she vlogs?” Cinna's curiosity was in full flow.

“Has her own channel. Vlogs, skits, con event recordings, discussions and livestreams. She's not a popufur, and certainly no competition for the soda roo or the fruit fox, but she has a decent following, and seems content with that. I can give you a link, if you like.”

“Please.” Cin's smile faded as she noticed a distant Leslie. “Something wrong?”

“Cigarettes. You said there were cigarettes.”

“Two. Half smoked. Why?”

“Eric doesn't smoke. Never has. So where did they come from?”

The room froze, all eyes converging on Leslie.

Jan was the first to speak. “Either he trod them in, or...”

“Or,” Sabine finished, “someone's working with him.”

“Someone who could be at this con,” Hazel added.

“Well, crap.” Verity frowned. “Although, if they _are_ here, shouldn't be too hard to spot them. Not too many smoke, any more, and if they do it's vapes, or herbs, like Lacey.” She exhaled, then moved briskly to the luggage pile. “We've chewed over this enough. Let's get settled in, I'll talk with Lacey, then we'll see how the panel goes.”

For the next thirty minutes the room bustled with activity, six people organising the space they'd be sharing. Then they started dispersing, a determined Verity to see Lacey, Leslie becoming Lapis and heading out with Sabine to look for some suiter friends, and Jan to set up his table in the dealer's den, though not before giving everyone custom badges he'd made for them.

Hazel opted to stay and rest, but Cinna found herself caught between looking after a fidgety Lily, or exploring the con. In the end, the choice was made for her by a rap on the door. Once the fox-girl had hidden in the wardrobe the cat opened up, to find Lacey standing outside, their fursuit switched out for dandelion yellow leggings and a long-sleeved shirt in olive with an elongated cartoon weasel forming an L on it, but the head and paw-gloves still in place.

“Just the kitty I wanted to see!” they cheered. “Wanna help me chase some tail?”

Cin's ears snapped to odd angles. “What?”

Lacey laughed, and waved the camera she held, mounted on the end of a small gimbal. “Help me film suiters! I can show you round the con at the same time.”

“Why me?” the cat wanted to know.

“Well, I _could_ say everyone else is busy,” the weasel mused, then her voice softened, “but really, you look like you could use a distraction.”

“You're not wrong,” the cat admitted. “What's Verity told you?”

“Enough.” A hand settled on her shoulder. “I'm with you. All the way.”

“You're sure?”

“Perfectly.” The hand squeezed lightly, then fell away as Lacey's head cocked. “'Sides, you really think I'm gonna miss out on a chance to give Cocksure the Cheetah a bloody nose?”

Cin laughed, then turned to Hazel, the rabbit stretched out on one of the beds. “You'll be okay?”

“Just fine,” they assured her. “Go have fun; I'll see you at the panel.”

Cinna nodded, looped her lanyard around her neck, then stepped out, the door clicking locked behind her. “Lead on, and tell me why winding up cheetahs is so very appealing to you.”

Lacey snickered as she led the way down the hall. “They, uh, made my first con memorable for all the wrong reasons. For some...inexplicable reason he decided the best way to big up his expensive new suit was to put mine down. Every chance he got, he'd sneer at it. I ignored him or threw a barb or two back – never let them see they get to you, and all that – but it _did_ get to me. I spent weeks making my suit.”

“It's lovely,” Cin averred. “Distinctive. Characterful.”

“Thank you.” The weasel gave her a light, one-armed hug. “Others at the con said that, too, a certain kobold in particular. In fact, she made a point of saying it right in front of him, while cheerfully pretending he didn't exist. He didn't like that much.”

“I bet!” Cinna chuckled.

“In fact, he liked it so little he caught my tail and pulled. Hard. It tore off, and took a nice big chunk of my suit's seat with it. Naturally, it had to be the one day, the _one day_ , I wasn't wearing any knickers.” A rueful chuckle tumbled free. “Which meant my skinny little backside was on display for all to see.”

“Awkward.”

“Just a smidge. Now, I didn't care about being exposed – I've nothing to be ashamed of, or anything to be proud of – but _was_ pretty hecking ticked off about my damaged suit, and maaaay have gotten a teeny bit shouty with him. I've a feeling it was that, as well as the 'indecency', that got me kicked out of the con.”

“ _Please_ tell me he got kicked out, too.”

“He was staff – ran the dealer's den – and _popular_ , so no. Didn't even get a slap on the wrist. It was just an _accident_.” Lacey's voice dripped sarcasm. Then she perked up again. “ _But_ , karma did get 'em, in a way, as the next year the con's attendance dropped quite a bit. Enough so, in fact, they couldn't afford to hold it the year after. Or ever again.”

“I...can't say I'm sad about that.”

“Me either! Apparently, the con's failure may or may not have had a little something to do with a certain kobold spreading word and video of what happened around as much as she could.” The weasel's tone turned fond. “I owe that girl so much. She's the sister I _wish_ I had.”

“Interesting phrasing,” Cin noted, as they started down the stairs.

Lacey gave a short, dark chuckle. “I'll phrase it another way – I wish I had Verry as my sister instead of the close-minded, petty little ball of spite I actually have.”

“She's the reason you keep the head on, isn't she?” the cat ventured.

“Yep.” The weasel popped the P. “If she had even the slightest inkling I was one of the, quote, 'sick, cringey fleabags' she so loves to sneer at, my life would effectively be over. She'd tell our parents, and since our parents haven't approved of a single thing I've done since leaving the womb...” She sighed, rubbing the back of her fursuit head. “I keep my human face hidden, even from those I really don't want to.”

Cin touched her arm. “Must be hard.”

“Yes and no. It's a constant anxiety worrying away at the back of my mind, _but_...” She spread her arms as they turned a corner. “If it means I can keep being a part of all _this_...I think I can live with it.”

They'd reached one end of a broad corridor that was fair thrumming with life, people moving along it and across it, conversation and music and laughter filling the air, and the energy that had suffused the lobby was even stronger.

Cinna shivered with delight. “I think I'm gonna like it here.”

“Welcome to the con!” Lacey declared, her grin audible. “We have a dealer's den, three function rooms, a main stage and, down at the end, a lounge and bar. What say we take a stroll through and see who's up for being on camera?”

“Sounds good to me,” the cat agreed.

They took less than a dozen steps before encountering a suiter whose appearance was somewhere between a reptile and a bird; they acted a lot like the latter, too, chirping and trilling as they cocked their head at Cin and Lacey in great curiosity. Handing the camera to the feline, the weasel playfully responded to the suiter, dooking and sniffing at them, her head twisting, her paws pulled up almost to her chest.

Cinna did her best to film them, trying to keep the camera steady and them both fully in frame, but it got markedly harder when they started to dance around each other, and almost impossible when a husky with an extravagant curl of a tail joined in and the dance became a dizzying whirl. Then, in a blink, it was over, with cheerful waves and two noses dabbed into the lens.

As Lacey took the camera back, Cin cocked her head. “Does that kind of thing happen a lot?”

“If you want it to.” The weasel pointed out a room as they passed, six rows of chairs facing a line of covered tables. “Just so you know, that's where the A-Pet panel's happening.”

“Gotcha.” The cat side-stepped a long-snouted blend between canine and shark.

“And this,” Lacey indicated the next room, which was filled with stalls selling suit parts, art, clothing and much more besides, “is the dealer's den. Wanna check in on Jan?”

“Won't Eric be there, too?”

“Nah.” The weasel flapped a paw as she entered the room. “He'll be mooching around the motorfurs meet right about now.”

Jan's stall proved to be one of the smaller ones, toward the back right of the room, with a handful of laminated pictures laid out on the table, a few more stuck to a board behind him, and a slim brown folder with an M sticker on the front currently being browsed through by a young woman with a raccoon bag. She soon bought an image of a nude male snow leopard staring wistfully out of a window, slipped it into her bag, smiled, and took her leave.

“Whoa!” Lacey's eyebrows were almost on top of her head. “Did you really just sell a _pin-up_ , Jan? At a con?”

“They're trying something new this year,” he explained, “so I thought I might as well, too.” He tapped the 'M' on the folder. “Three categories for adult content, instead of everything bundled into one. M for nudes and non-detailed erotica, V for violence and gore, X for porn.”

“Yannow, I kinda like that.” The weasel nodded approvingly. “Oughta clear up a lot of confusion, if nothing else.”

“Confusion?” Cin asked.

“Mostly the 'why is this not hardcore smut like I was expecting?' kind of confusion,” Lacey clarified.

“People have a tendency to assume,” Jan concurred. “This pre-empts that, which gives me the confidence to try selling my pin-ups. There's no guarantees it'll stick, of course, but we can hope.”

“Fingers crossed!” The weasel held up hers. “How many you sold?”

“Including that one, three. Sold a few pieces of general art, too, and had a commission enquiry, so not a bad day so far.” Jan smirked. “Still not a patch on dear Eric, of course, and he's not even been here.”

“Then how...?” Cin wondered.

“Someone covering for him,” Lacey replied.

The cat rubbed her chin. “Morbid curiosity dictates I go take a peek.”

“I wouldn't, if I were you,” Jan warned. “You won't like what you see.”

Cinna frowned. “Now I _have_ to see. Where's his stall?”

“Down the other end of this aisle, but...”

She was off before he'd finished, weaving quickly through the crowds with Lacey hurrying to follow. Finding the table wasn't hard, as it was one of the busiest, and had an ornate banner over it reading “Eric King Cheetah'. A rather sharp-faced girl staffed the stall, a selection of work was smartly arranged around her, a thick folder marked with an X was being pored over by two people at once – Cin refrained from looking at the contents – and a commission price list was in the hands of a third.

What held Cinna's attention the most, though, a shiver stealing down her spine, was a large splash image promoting a comic. It featured an adolescent-looking coyote girl in basic tribal gear stood atop a boulder and staring intently into the distance, while a huge male face filled the space behind her, and a title blazed above her – Warrior's Rite.

Hands clenching, the cat spun on her heel and returned to Jan's table, a frowning Lacey still on her tail.

“You weren't kidding,” she told him, voice tight, eyes hard. “That new comic of his is...concerning.”

“He based it on her, didn't he?” Jan asked, quietly.

Cin nodded. “Certainly took plenty of inspiration from her. Guessing It's not nearly as innocent, though?”

Lacey snorted derisively. “Eric King Cheetah only draws two kinds of comic: the porn comic, and the abandoned porn comic.”

“Like the A-Pet one, for example,” Jan supplied. “Only drew two pages before he dropped it.” He sighed. “The frustrating thing is, the art may be high quality, and the world-building pretty decent, but it's always to the same end: big, muscly, aggressive male sexually dominating petite, doe-eyed female.”

“Usin' about three expressions and five poses,” Lacey put in.

“And now he's into adolescent characters,” Jan continued. “Normally I wouldn't worry about that – it's not real, after all – but this is Eric. We know all too well he's not content to leave these things as fantasy.”

Cinna suppressed a shudder. “How long's he been drawing them?”

“About a month or so,” Jan answered. “Although, you could argue he's been drawing them a lot longer, given there's always been something, for want of a better word, childlike about the females in his work.”

Lacey crossed her arms. “If your idea of childlike is a vapid, supine sex doll with fur. He just wants placid little girlies his grunting muscle-boys can ream silly, and young teens just happen to be his latest variant on that.” Her tone sharpened. “After all, this is a guy whose idea of female agency is sassy dialogue and not splitting them open on page one...”

“Lacey...” Jan reached over to press her wrist.

“All right, all right.” The weasel closed her eyes, exhaled, then shook herself. “Moving on!” She looked to Cin. “Wanna forget he exists and go wallow in a ball pit awhile?”

“Happily!” The cat firmly bobbed her head.

She and the weasel nosed Jan's cheeks, then left the Den, giving Eric's stall a wide berth, and headed to the lounge. It was a huge, sprawling space, two-thirds filled with plush tables and chairs, the rest home to a selection of activities, including a compact pool table, a ball pit, and a line of large inflatable animals. Beach paraphernalia was everywhere.

Amongst the riot of life thronging the area, they spotted Verity seated at a table in one corner deep in discussion of a thick D and D expansion book with four other people, Lapis and Ginger engaged in an intensely competitive game of giant connect four while six other suiters cheered them on and almost as many non-suiters filmed them, and Sabine bent over the pool table, playing solo.

Cin and Lacey worked their way around for a good forty-five minutes, finding many interesting things to film, and interesting people willing to be filmed. They took turns holding the camera, and interacting with other furries. A spectacular quad suit left them both in awe, Cinna was very taken with a slinky male lemur who kept skipping his own lengthy tail, and Lacey was readily distracted by any tail big enough to hug.

She was also, the cat observed, often drawn to the dobermann at the pool table. Almost every time the weasel held the camera it drifted in that direction, and she more than once needed to be snapped back to focus. On at least three occasions she started towards the dog, only to check herself after just a few steps. Finally, they found themselves at the ball pit, which just so happened to be right next to the pool table, Lacey's gaze fell on the bodysuit-clad rear pointing in their direction as the dobermann lined up a shot, and Cin just couldn't help herself.

“Hey, Sabine!” she called out. “I think Lacey wants to _play_ with you!”

“What?!” The weasel squawked, voice jumping up at least an octave, then started frantically waving her paws. “Nooo, no, no! I don't wanna play like _that_! Well, maybe kinda-sorta like _that_ inna not actually _that_ kinda way but _definitely_ not _that_ that unless you really, _reaally_ wanna do _that_ cause I doubt I could say no cause I'm a weak little weasel and you're hecking _gorgeous_ and why are you laughing so hard C-oh, I _hate_ you right now.”

Lacey turned, paws over her face, marched to the ball pit, jumped in, and buried herself. Cinna and Sabine hastened over, the cat reaching a hand in to search for the weasel.

“Lacey, I'm sorry! I was just trying to have a little fu-YAI!”

Two arms surged out of the pit to grab her and pull her in; she flipped clean over, landing on her back in the balls, somehow still holding the camera, and before she could move the weasel was pinning her down, their nose touching hers, their brows drawn in a deep frown.

“I oughta moidalise ya!” Lacey spat, in a thick gangster accent. “Fit ya out for a concrete overcoat and drop ya in da river!” Then she abruptly switched back to her normal voice. “Buuut it _was_ kinda funny so I'll let ya off. Just don't do it again, 'kay?”

“'Kay!” Cin agreed, nodding vigorously. “Friends again?”

“Yep!” The weasel hugged her, tight, then sat up, still astride the cat, and aimed a sheepish look, moving her eyebrows to suit, at Sabine. “I hope I didn't make things awkward. I just happen to have a...thing for bodysuits. And tall, strong dogs. And tall, strong dogs in bodysuits.”

“Not at all,” Sabine assured her, with a laugh. “And for the record, I'll only do _that_ with my partner, Abigail.”

“Aw, of _course_ you're taken.” Lacey sulked. “Rats!” One nearby tilted its head at her, paws on hips. “I mean, hecking darn it all.”

The dobermann took her paw. “ _But_...Abby _has_ been suggesting I look for a second partner, one I can share my more active interests with, as she has her limits.”

The weasel's head cocked sharply, brows high. “What kinda active?”

“Hiking, running, fitness, tai chi.”

“Welll, I _have_ been meaning to get more exercise...”

Sabine smiled. “Then how about a game of pool?”

Lacey sprang to her feet, scattering balls everywhere. “Happy to! You _might_ have to teach me how to play, though...”

“Happy to.” Taking the weasel's paw, the dog led her to the table.

Cinna recovered all the wayward balls, with aid from Lapis and Verity, then she lay in the mouse's arms in the pit, the young woman beside them, watching Sabine teach Lacey to play pool. She was delighted to see an easy, playful rapport quickly develop between them and, once she'd checked the camera's charge and how much space was left, she started filming the best bits.

Lacey badly scuffing a shot and very nearly ripping the baize. Sabine standing close behind the weasel as she showed them how to hold the cue, all but embracing them. Lacey hitting a shot far too hard, sending two balls flying from the table, then scurrying to recover them. Sabine steadying the weasel with an arm around their waist after an awkward shot left them struggling for balance. Lacey whooping, jumping for joy and flinging her arms around the dobermann's neck after sinking a ball for the first time. Sabine subsiding on her back into the ball pit once the table was clear, the weasel resting on top of her.

“Yannow,” Lacey noted, deeply contented, “this could work out, after all.” She clapped her paws. “Who's up for lunch?”

Verity volunteered to get takeaway, and left to recruit Jan. Cin, Lapis and Sabine returned to their room with Lacey, the mouse reverting to Leslie with help from Hazel and the dog, the weasel gushing gleefully over Lily, and the cat borrowing a phone to call Ian. She was relieved to hear he'd gotten no white-coated visitors, and he was reassured to know all was going well at the con, and that Lily was still safe.

While they waited for the food, the cat settled cross-legged on one of the beds, the young vixen in her lap, one hand stroking their belly. She stayed there when Verity and Jan joined them, sharing her meal, chips and a large battered cod, with Lily, both of them giggling at the sight of Lacey carefully feeding onion rings into her muzzle.

When the meal was done the mood was lively, everyone readying for the Anthropet panel in high spirits. Cinna gave the fox-girl a tight hug and shared a kiss, assured her they'd be back in just over an hour, then the group left together. They reached the relevant function room ten minutes before the panel's start time, taking seats in the front row, the weasel readying her camera.

A small, bespectacled man sat at the table, consulting a tablet, while a tall, thin thirty-something woman set up a projector, and a plumply cheerful young man checked the microphones. More and more people filed in, amongst them a suitless Ginger, who sat in the row behind the group, and Eric, the sharp-faced girl, and an imposing, soberly-dressed, grey and white male AnthroPet cat, who all headed to the back of the room, mercifully out of sight.

So many people entered, in fact, every seat was taken and quite a few were left standing; as a result the panel started five minutes late, but it was taken in good-humoured stride. Cin found it a little difficult to stay focused on the speakers, her curiosity fired up by the other feline, and the delivery fairly dry, with no information that was new to her.

After the mid-session break, however, a question-and-answer session started, and things took a much more interesting turn when someone asked about the rogue scientists.

The bespectacled man's response was blunt. “They're dangerous. No regard at all for procedure, regulations or the safety of the AnthroPets they're creating, or thought for the repercussions and ramifications of what they're doing.”

“So preoccupied with whether they _could_ ,” Lacey put in, “they didn't stop to think if they _should_.”

“Succinctly put.”

“But,” an unwelcome, quietly self-satisfied voice intruded, “surely the advancements made justify the sacrifices. Just look at what the 'rogue scientists' are set to achieve.”

“Easy to say when you're not the one making the sacrifices,” Cin shot back, tail tip twitching.

“Indeed,” the scientist concurred. “You walk a very slippery slope with such reasoning. The ability to change normal pets into AnthroPets, let alone humans into hybrid beings, may sound impressive, maybe even desirable, but the cost, in lives ruined and lives lost, must surely be too high, and that's assuming they even succeed.”

“They succeeded with the colour variations,” Eric persisted.

“Again, they _say_ they have.” The man's tone was starting to veer into the condescending. “Has anybody actually laid eyes on the pink vixen that supposedly escaped from their facility? No.”

“Yes. Me.” Irritation was clear in Eric's voice.

“You really expect us to believe you?” Lacey rolled her eyes at him as she handed her camera to Verity.

Eric's teeth visibly gritted. “I have proof.” He went for his pocket. His feline companion gripped his upper arm, but he shrugged them off, to hold up an SD card in a plastic case. “Right here.”

“Ooh! Lemme see!” Faster than anyone could react the weasel shot from her chair and round to Eric's, grabbing for the card. He threw his arm back, leaning away at the same time, shouting in anger. Her hand jostled the card free, it fell to the floor, and then his chair toppled over on top of it. A chastened Lacey retreated as Eric lunged to his feet, the now broken card in his hand. “Sorry. Got a little carried away. I'll buy a new one for you.”

Growling, Eric swiped at her. “Bitch!”

Lacey ducked and hastened to the door. “I'll, uh...see myself out.”

Eric glared murderously after her, then turned it on Cin. “You put her up to it, didn't you? To cover your sorry tail.”

“I don't know what you mean,” the cat responded, evenly.

“Oh, you do.” Eric's finger levelled directly at her eyes. “Believe me, I will make both of you suffer for that. Her first, and then...” He paused, his expression shifting subtly, finally settling on a cold smugness. “Oh, I wonder. Would you have been that _stupid_?”

Cin felt pure ice trickle down her spine, but managed not to show it.

Eric, along with his two companions, who both looked uneasy, walked slowly and deliberately out of the room. As he passed Cinna's row he gave her a dark, self-satisfied little smile; her stomach lurched. “Watch yourself, kitty.”

The panel wrapped up shortly after that, and the group made all the haste they dared back to their room, keeping collective watch for Eric or his companions. The tension eased slightly on reaching their door unmolested, and it decreased a little more on finding Lacey waiting for them. A great chunk of it dissipated when, once the door was locked, Lily emerged from the wardrobe.

Cinna hugged and kissed them, then embraced Lacey. “You are crazy, and wonderful. Thank you.”

The weasel chuckled. “Hey, it wasn't just me. The scientist did his bit, too. I just...took advantage.”

“Brilliantly!” Jan averred. “That surely _has_ to have been his only copy of the footage; he wouldn't have gotten so mad, otherwise.”

“Well, I'm sure his wounded pride at being bested by a _girl_ was part of it, too.” Verity grinned as she handed back the camera, but it faded pretty quickly. “Of course, the chances of him forgetting it and moving on are...remote, to say the least.”

“He certainly wasn't making empty threats,” Leslie agreed.

“Pretty sure I can handle whatever he tries,” Lacey reassured, “but I'll not wander around alone, regardless. You shouldn't either, Cin.”

“I don't think any of us should,” Hazel insisted. “And the less we leave Lily alone, the better.”

“Yeah,” the vixen piped up. “It's boring and stuffy in the wardrobe.”

“You don't have to stay in it the entire time we're gone, silly!” Cin pet her scalp. “Just slip in whenever you hear someone coming.”

“Oh.” Lily flushed, ears sagging. “Just trying to keep safe.”

Cinna nuzzled her with great affection. “I know. As long as you're not noisy, you should be fine.”

“If it's all right with you both,” Jan slipped in, “I think it a good idea to leave my laptop's webcam” – he indicated the computer, sitting on the room's one small desk – “on while we're all out. As insurance.”

Cin nodded. “It's a very good idea. You all right with it, sweetie?”

So did Lily. “Not like I'm gonna be petting myself,” she giggled. “Dance nekkid, maybe.”

“Whatever keeps you busy!” Cinna laughed.

“Speaking of busy,” Sabine spoke up, “we should make sure we're all aware what everyone else is planning to do and see. Organise a bit.”

Schedules were compared, and it turned out that there'd be at least one person in the room through the rest of the day, and no-one would be going anywhere alone. Hazel and Leslie left to explore the dealer's den, Jan settled down to work at his laptop, and Verity, Sabine and Cin grabbed their swimsuits and towels and set out to try the hotel pool.

They took a detour to escort Lacey to her room, the weasel wanting a little time alone and without the fursuit head to settle herself, then set a brisk pace to the pool. It proved to be of decent size, and not all that busy, just half a dozen people making use of it, and most of them were simply lounging around. Only a young man with a light tan over showy muscles and vivid trunks that were at least a size too small for him was actually swimming, and not terribly well.

The trio changed into their suits, Cinna her pink and white one piece, Verity small, sleek shorts and trim high-neck top, both in a deep, matte purple chased with silver and gold, and Sabine a classic two-piece with a scoop-neck and low-rise briefs in bronze that she made look so good every pair of eyes lingered on her as the group slid into the water.

The cat immediately took off across the pool, swimming strongly, the dog pacing her easily, while the young woman was content to lean on the wall and watch. It quickly became a contest, Cin and Sabine racing up and down, length after length, little to be seen between them. The muscled man tried to join in, but gave up after barely half a length, and left the water, brows furrowed.

Shortly after a Korean girl, attractive in a quirky way, her dark brown hair short and her lean form clad in shallow scoop briefs that tied on the hips and a small but elegant halter top, in warm shades of yellow, entered. They settled not too far from Verity, gaze switching between her and the racing duo, something a little anxious in her manner.

Cinna and Sabine concluded their race by heading right for the young woman, the dog touching her on the stomach a fraction before the cat patted her flank. They then sagged against her on either side, panting heavily, eyes dancing. Playful conversation filled the time until they'd recovered enough to swim again, this time a gentle circling of the pool that Verity joined in on.

So, after a little while, did the Korean girl, though she didn't talk, and wasn't the strongest or tidiest of swimmers, and would duck her head or look away every time one of the others glanced at her. When they congregated in the shallows, resting together, she sat a couple of feet distant, her face slightly flushed.

Attempts to include her in the conversation were shyly ignored, until she suddenly shifted closer to Verity and leaned in...only to jolt back as the grey and white cat came strolling from the men's changing rooms, wearing slate grey shorts and little in the way of an expression. Cinna, Verity, Sabine and the Korean girl collectively decided it was the ideal time to leave the pool.

The latter kept to herself in the changing room, and melted away the instant they all left it, though not without one last glance. The whole group reconvened in the room for a takeaway supper, then Lapis and Jan headed to the lounge for a while, Verity and Sabine opted to rest, letting their energy recover for the dances later on, and Cin and Hazel left for a concert on the main stage.

On reaching the room to find Eric sitting near the front they seriously considered just turning around and walking away, but in the end opted to sit at the back, stay quiet, and hope he didn't notice them. Most of the way through, he didn't, and they were able to enjoy an impressive jazz ensemble with a strong lead singer, who set nearly every tail in the place swinging.

Once the set had drawn to a close, and the band had taken their bows to vigorous applause, though, Eric turned to leave and his eyes found the pair. They linked hands and hastened out, and he followed them, an unsettling smile on his face. Anxiety rising, they tried to shake him off in the crowds of the con spaces, but to no avail.

Anxiety was threatening to become panic when, in the middle of the lounge, Eric was stalled by a big blue mouse that just kept stumbling in front of him. Taking full advantage, rabbit and cat sped up almost to a jog, and managed to get to the far end of the main con corridor before he was able to reach its start. Not slowing down at all, they climbed to the first floor and, repeatedly looking behind them, threaded their way to their room and safety.

Inside, they huddled together on one of the beds, Lily nuzzling close to the cat, Verity and Sabine sitting nearby. A few moments later Lapis and Jan appeared, grim satisfaction in the latter's manner; as the latter helped the former revert to Leslie, he explained that Eric had gotten so furious with Lapis he'd actually tried to attack her, only to be restrained by his companions. He'd then been confronted by con staff, given a warning, and firmly told to stay in his room for the rest of the evening.

“He's really not having a good day,” Verity noted, drily. “What became of the other two?”

“Instructed to ensure he stayed in his room,” Leslie told her, with half a grin. “From their faces, they weren't about to disobey.”

“Brilliant!” Verity clapped her hands. “Shall we go dance? It'll help us forget everything for a while.”

Sabine, Leslie and Jan were all quick to agree, but Hazel declined, her ears sagging.

“It'd be too much for me,” she explained, apologetically.

“Don't think I'm up to it, either,” Cin admitted.

“Fair enough.” Verity patted both their shoulders. “I'm sure you'll find your own distractions. We'll be back by midnight.”

It took a few minutes for the foursome to prepare, Verity donning her tail, Leslie changing her clothes, Jan and Sabine taking turns to visit the bathroom, then they left with spirits high. Soon afterwards a yawning Lily undressed, lovingly hugged and kissed the rabbit and the cat, then slipped into the zipped together sleeping bags between the beds, and was fast asleep in just a couple of minutes.

“So,” Cin asked, in a murmur. “Any thoughts on what we can do?”

Hazel's answer was to nuzzle-kiss the cat, and one hand slipped under their top to caress their flank.

“Oh.” Feline eyes widened, then narrowed as her voice lowered. “Are you _sure_?”

Hazel kissed her again, in a manner that made the cat's breath hitch a little. “You're the best distraction I can think of, right now.”

“In that case...” Cinna left the bed, shed her clothes and collar, turned off every light except a standing lamp near the window that cast a low, warm radiance across the room, double-checked the door was locked, opened Jan's laptop to cue up some gentle acoustic guitar, collected a box of tissues, then returned to a Hazel now wearing only their collar, drawing the rabbit close, their noses touching, a sensuous shine in her eyes and a purr in her voice. “We're doing this _properly_.”

The rabbit shivered. “You really know how to romance a girl.”

Cin stroked her face against the bunny's. “If this is going where I _think_ it's going, I want it to be special. You deserve that.”

Long ears tinted, pale green eyes moistened, then she pressed a firm kiss to the cat's mouth. The response was immediate and strong, and in short order their muzzles were fully meshed, dancing deeply. Hazel was content to simply clasp the cat's waist with both arms, and savour the intimate blending of fur, warmth and contours, while Cin explored the rabbit's back and flanks, searching for the most sensitive spots.

She found one just below and to the side of their tail, the caressing of which sent a satisfying little shiver through the bunny, and running her fingers through the plump, plush tuft itself actually drew a gasp. Hazel tightened her grasp on the feline as her own body tensed and the kiss finally ended, both of them panting.

Feeling the rabbit's nipples stiffen, radiant little nubs pressing against her skin, Cinna stilled her hands and nudged noses. “You okay?”

“Sensitive spot,” Hazel giggled, shyly, something in her tone that saw the cat's pulse rising. “Especially when I'm 'in the mood'.”

Cin grinned, nuzzling into their neck, tongue flicking out as she tasted the change in their scent, feeling a need for them and a preoccupation with them she couldn't begin to put into words. “I'm in grave danger of losing myself in you.”

Hazel lay back, staring up at the feline, their figure highlighted by the low side light, their eyes aglow with its reflection, nothing else existing to her. “I'm already lost in you.”

Cinna sank onto the rabbit, and they melted into another kiss, deeper and richer than the first, hands gliding over each other's bodies. Hazel wanted to tooth purr so good did she feel, but with her mouth so busy she had to settle for little sighs and croons. Cin was able to purr, and it filled them both with delicious, delicate vibrations.

Only a keen need to breathe properly finally forced them apart, their lips a little swollen and ruddy, their tongues lolling in heavy pants and their ears flushed. Cinna would have been concerned by the moisture dampening Hazel's cheeks, but the beatific smile that dimpled them as well made her eyes tingle.

“Having fun?” she asked, equal parts playful and affectionate.

“Safe,” the rabbit murmured, caressing the cat's cheek with one hand, the other kneading the small of their back. “No worry. No shame.” She lovingly nuzzle-licked the side of their muzzle. “No fear.”

“Never,” Cin averred, voice cracking slightly.

She returned Hazel's licks and nuzzles, then began trailing them down the rabbit's throat, until she reached their collar. Her hands converged on it as her eyes asked a silent question; the subtlest of nods from the bunny, nothing but love and trust in their gaze, and she undid it, slid it free, set it aside, and pressed a warm, warm kiss to their bare neck.

Hazel, tooth purring strongly now, watched through lidded eyes as the cat lapped over her collar bone and slowly south between her breasts; their whiskers tickled her nipples, bringing forth giggling little gasps. It amused Cin enough she kept at it a short while, before licking her slow way up the slope of the rabbit's right breast.

Hazel's spine stiffened just a little, and as the cat's mouth closed over her nipple, her eyes drifted closed and her mouth opened in an almost silent croon. Cinna's lips suckled the keen nub with aching tenderness, her tongue's rough texture lending a shiver-inducing hint of rasp to her swirling little licks.

Her eyes hardly ever leaving Hazel's face, the cat gave equal attention to both the rabbit's breasts, until they were gasping with their fingers tightening against her shoulder and back. Then she simply lay still for a moment, chin resting between their mammaries, letting them settle again. Hazel, nipples still tingling, tried to coax Cinna into moving back up so she could return the favour, but they resisted, starting to kiss and lick down her stomach.

The rabbit's heartbeat quickened more the further south the stroking lips went, a heat welling deep in her haunches. She watched the cat's muzzle slide between them, felt their chill, damp nose start to feather along the crease of her vulva, and a keen pulse sent a shudder through her that saw her biting her lip to stifle a moan.

Cin smiled with satisfaction, then ran her tongue along the seam, and Hazel's back lifted briefly from the bed. She lapped over every inch of their outer lips, bringing forth a string of breathless whimpers, kissed the very middle of the join, then eased the tip of her tongue between them and held it there.

The trembles of pleasure subsided, until there was only the radiance of heat from that one small point of contact. Hazel took some breaths, caught up one of the cat's hands, rested her other on the back of their head, and nodded. The tongue delved deeper, the heat flared, and the rabbit's eyes rolled to white.

Cinna kept her probing slow and gentle, trying her best to balance out the roughness of her tongue, rolling it almost languidly around the soft folds. She fell still every time she felt Hazel start to tighten up, or saw a flicker of discomfort cross their face, and refrained from probing any deeper. Only after a particularly strong tremble and keen, and a single nod from the rabbit did she finally press further in.

Hazel's muzzle gaped wide as the cat nestled the tip of hers into their labia, wriggling her tongue inside their passage. Her back arched a full three inches from the bed, her hand clenched the sheets, she gave out a quavering, almost sobbing moan, and as Cin pressed tissues over the meeting point of snout and vulva, she hit her peak.

Then she slumped, chest heaving, tongue lolling, tears streaming out of her eyes. The cat eased her muzzle tip from their labia, made more use of the tissues, then slid herself forward to hold and nuzzle and kiss Hazel, until their breathing quieted, their hand relaxed, their trembling subsided, and their eyes opened.

“Thank you,” Hazel whispered, adoration in her eyes.

“My pleasure,” Cin whispered back, then, even quieter, right into the rabbit's ear. “I love you.”

Pale green eyes filled with tears, then determination. “Your turn.”

“No need,” the cat told her. “I'm fine.”

Hazel gave a sharp shake of the head, lips twitching. “No, you're not.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Cinna stressed. “No release required.”

The rabbit flicked one of her nipples, and she shivered. “Really?”

“R-really.” The cat swallowed. “You don't have to-hoo-o...!” Her hands clenched as lapine fingers brushed her vulva.

“Yes, I _do_.” Hazel's arms locked firmly around their rear, and started pulling them closer.

“No, you _don't_.” Cin's voice sounded insistent, but she mustered little physical resistance.

“Tell that to your body,” Hazel chuckled.

“I am. It's not listening.” The cat gave a rueful laugh as she reared up against the headboard, and her haunches covered the rabbit's face.

“Good.” Hazel set her mouth to their vulva, and flicked her tongue.

Cinna gasped, eyes flickering, then gave in. “All right. Do your worst.”

The rabbit smirked, made sure her grasp on the cat's rear was secure, that they were comfortable, breathed deep, then clamped her muzzle over their labia, thrust her tongue as far inside their folds as she could, and swirled it around energetically.

Cin had to shove her fist into her mouth to stop herself screaming, so overpowering was the rush of heat and tightness and electricity. Eyes clamped closed, spine taut, scalp pressed to the headboard, claws of the other hand digging into it, teeth gritted, tail in spasms, she hit her peak in seconds, one so indescribably intense she almost blacked out.

Once it had passed she collapsed against the headboard, breathing so ragged and heavy it hurt, every limb boneless. Hazel quickly made use of a big handful of tissues, then pushed herself up between the cat and the headboard, cradling her, staring into her rolling, bleary eyes in guilt and more than a little worry.

“I overdid it, didn't I?”

Cinna dazedly shook her head. “That...was... _incredible_...” She gave a rough little chuckle. “If that's...what being...stubborn...and cocky...gets me...I'm _definitely_...doing it again...”

Hazel laughed, and kissed her between the ears. “Silly kitty. Let's get some sleep, hm?”

Laying the feline aside, she disposed of the used tissues, stopped the music and shut the laptop, sprayed a generous amount of air freshener about, turned off the standing light, then tucked herself and Cin under the sheets. One last, whispering full-muzzle kiss, then they snuggled tight, the cat falling asleep almost instantly.

The rabbit stroked the back of her head, and whispered in her ear. “I love you, too.”


	14. Conventional Wisdom - Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One long, eventful day, cramming in panels, fursuit games, a dance competition, and a livestream, all while Eric continues to threaten.

Cinnamon woke early. The room was softly lit by the last stirrings of a cloudless dawn, and soft snores rose from the other bed, where Leslie slept on, and the sleeping bags, where Sabine cradled Lily. The muted rush of water told her someone was in the shower, and as Jan was sat at his laptop, fully dressed, it had to be Verity.

Hazel shifted in her arms. Cin stroked their ears, nuzzled their cheek, and they settled again. She took a long moment to savour their warm, solid presence, and the memories of the night before, then eased back from the rabbit, sat up, rubbed her eyes and stretched.

“Morning,” Jan greeted, turning to her with a smile that was friendly, knowing, and nervous all at once. “You must have slept well.”

“Like a dead log,” Cin chuckled. Then her head cocked. “Wait, why do you say that?” Her eyes snapped wider, and her inner ears turned just a little more pink. “You know what we did...”

Jan nodded. “Hard not to, considering...”

“We didn't spray enough freshener around, did we?” Cinna fretted.

“If anything, too much, but...”

“Sabine would have smelled it anyway,” the cat groaned, softly. “And she told you.”

“Yes, she would, but no, she didn't.”

Cin's brow furrowed. “Then how...?”

“I saw it.” Jan tapped the camera lens in the lid of his laptop.

The cat felt a sudden urge to shut herself in the wardrobe and never come out. “Hazel's gonna kill me...” She swallowed. “How much...?”

“All of it.”

Cinna dragged a hand down her face. “And all because I _had_ to have mood music.” She slid from the bed, and crossed, a little unsteadily, to stand close to the man. “Let me see.”

Jan cued up the video. The cat watched as she and Hazel, two backlit silhouettes, entwined tenderly, the actions clear, but the detail sparse, and was surprised by how taken she was with it. The emotion and the lingering intimacy of the experience were palpable, but the particulars remained just beyond view.

Jan paused it with Cin's muzzle nestled between Hazel's thighs, their bodies painted in light and shadow that showed only a faint hint of the sensuous kiss. “I'm...honestly not sure what to do.” He admitted. “On the one hand it's an invasion of your privacy, and Hazel's, even if you're the ones that accidentally made it happen. On the other...it's actually kinda beautiful, so...” He shrugged.

Cinna stared at the freeze-frame image a long while, not speaking. A nude Verity, rubbing her hair with a small towel, exited the bathroom, and smiled softly at the cat.

“For what it's worth,” she told them, “I think you should keep it. If an intimate night leaves you struggling to stand straight the next morning it's probably worth remembering.”

Chuckling, Cin pulled herself up a little. “True. It's not just my choice to make, though.”

“Of course not.” Verity perched on the end of Leslie's bed. “Can I talk to you a moment?”

The cat padded over. “What about?”

“You've no problem being nude, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Cin smirked.

“You've no problem snuggling people.”

“If I trust them, not at all.”

“And you've no problem snuggling nude people in the nude.”

The feline settled against the young woman, resting her head on their breast, and aimed a playful look up at them. “Is there a point to this?”

“Lacey.” Verity linked her hands on the cat's hip. “She's planning to do a livestream tonight. In the nude. And she wants company.”

Cin blinked. “Does she often livestream nude?”

“At least once a month, yeah. Since we're at a con, Lacey's decided to make tonight's a little room party. No drinks, but plenty of bikinis, and games and chat and casual nudity and it'll almost certainly end up in a great big cuddle pile. Interested?”

“Definitely!” The cat nodded eagerly.

“Great!” Verity kissed her scalp. “Now I just need to convince Sabine, Hazel, Leslie and Jan.”

“As much as it pains me, I'll have to pass,” Jan put in. “I have a stream of my own, tonight. Trying to finish the cyberpunk piece. Pretty sure I can get Leslie to join you, though.”

“Join what?” the girl herself asked, sitting up and blinking at him.

“Lacey's livestream,” Verity explained.

Leslie stretched, her powder blue, v-neck camisole riding up. “Always happy to cuddle pile with you two, you know that.”

“Nude livestream,” Jan clarified.

Leslie froze. “Everyone nude?”

“Well, bikinis for the first thirty minutes or so,” Verity replied, “maybe an hour, then we go nude.”

“Bikinis?” Leslie hugged herself lightly. “Not sure I'd look any good in one...”

Jan rose, and stepped to the bed. “Get up,” he told her, firmly tender.

The girl did so, slipping her glasses on and standing, self-consciously tugging her camisole down, and smoothing her matching panties.

“Roll your top up to your chest,” Jan continued.

There was a brief hesitation, then Leslie bundled the fabric up to just below the twin swells pushing it out, slightly more prominent than the one in her panties, revealing her almost flat stomach.

“Now you're in a bikini,” he told her, and his voice softened, and filled with affection. “And you look _beautiful_.”

“He's not wrong,” Cin chimed in, while Verity beamed.

Eyes glistening, Leslie wrapped her arms around Jan's neck and kissed him. “Thank you.”

He kissed her right back, cradling her. “Any time, Squeaks.”

The girl blushed and pouted playfully. “I told you not to call me that around others.”

“Pretty sure we can make an exception for our closest friends.”

“Fitting pet name for a mouse,” Cin offered, with a smile.

“It's not just that,” Leslie murmured, shyly. “I, uh, have a habit...” Jan's hand playfully squeezed her rear, and she squeaked a yelp that quickly dissolved into giggles. “Of that!” She glowered at him. “You're _so_ lucky I love you.”

He nudged noses. “I know.”

Leslie melted, kissing him again, then pushing away. “I'll do it. Where I'll get a bikini from I don't know, but I'll do it.”

“I know a few shops in walking distance,” Verity assured her. “And you don't have to be nude if you don't want to. This _is_ Lacey, remember.”

“Exactly.” Leslie embraced both the dark-skinned girl and the cat, and kissed their cheeks. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I need a shower.” With a coquettish little smile, she caught Jan's hand and pulled him along. He resisted only long enough to grab some clothes for her.

“Want the air freshener?” Cin called after them, teasingly.

Leslie chuckled. “Thanks, but no; we're a way off that.”

As the bathroom door clicked shut behind them, long, blended yawns signified the stirring of Sabine and Hazel. The dobermann was quick to leave the sleeping bags, not disturbing Lily in the slightest, stretched in fluid fashion, shook herself sharply, then directed a bright smile at the other two, ears perked.

“Morning! Is that a private hug, or can anyone join in?”

Hazel slumped to a sitting position, fur rumpled, ears hanging in front of her face. “How are you so perky right after waking?” she mumbled, rubbing crust from her eyes. “It takes me ten minutes to get my ears to stand up straight...”

Sabine's ears dipped minutely. “My first owner was a late riser.” Then perked up again as she sat beside Verity and wrapped her arms around them and Cinna. “I would ask how things went last night, _but_...”

“But what?” Hazel asked, drowsily confused.

The dobermann indicated the paused video still open on Jan's laptop, and the rabbit fumbled her glasses on to look. Then she stumbled out of the bed and across for a closer look. Then she played the video, and skipped through it, head lilting to one side. Finally, she turned, walked to the others, and nestled into the group hug.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Cin asked, “how mortified are you, and do I have any chance of making it up to you?”

Hazel giggled, lightly cuffing the cat's nose. “Don't be silly! I just can't believe we were daft enough to _record_ ourselves!” The mirth softened into a relieved little sigh. “And I'm _very_ grateful for having the kind of friends who won't tease us endlessly about it.”

“Perish the thought.” Verity ruffled the rabbit's upper back. “You were clearly so focused on making the moment count you can be forgiven a few little oversights.”

“We _did_ make it count, right?” Cinna wasn't quite done fretting.

Hazel beamed at her, and kissed her lovingly. “You turned an impulse into a dream. Yes, we made it count.”

The cat heaved a massive sigh of relief.

“And, if you keep the footage, you'll be able to relive it whenever you want,” Sabine cheerfully pointed out, petting her scalp. “I'd love to be able to relive mine. It wiped away all doubt that Abby genuinely loved me, _and_ left me struggling to remember how my limbs worked.”

“Win-win, there,” Verity smiled, then her head canted thoughtfully. “I don't know if I'd want to relive mine. The actual experience was great, so much fun, but what led up to it was...pretty painful.”

Cin fought to contain her curiosity, but it must have shown somehow, for the dark-skinned woman chuckled, scratched her lightly behind an ear, and started talking.

“I had a boyfriend at University. I thought he was wonderful, enough so I decided he was the one to start exploring sex with. Unfortunately, no matter how I tried to broach the subject, he just wouldn't talk about it. His evasions, deflections and excuses got so bad I started to wonder if he was hiding something from me.

“One night we went to a costume party, but he kept disappearing, for longer and longer periods. I finally pinned him down, and discovered I was just one of _four_ partners he had. He told us he was experimenting with polyamory, but seemed entirely unaware that _everybody_ involved had to get something out of it, and actually _know about it_.

“I left the party and went back to my flat, where my room-mate, then and now a sweetheart, went out of his way to comfort me. This led to me asking him, half-jokingly, if he'd explore sex with me...and he didn't hesitate to say yes. It proved to be one of the best experiences of my life, intimate, open, playful, gentle fun. It honestly changed me, and I can't thank Jan enough for that.”

“You changed me too, you know,” the man replied, standing nearby, an arm around Leslie, both of them dressed with hair damp. “Without you helping build my confidence I'd never have gone to my first furcon, and never have met Squeaks.” He gave an easy grin. “Practising for the livestream, are we?”

“Livestream?” Sabine and Hazel chorused.

Verity filled them in. They both readily agreed to take part, the rabbit also deciding to join the shopping party, then together they headed to the shower. The dark-skinned woman and Leslie fell into conversation as the former dressed, while Jan returned to his laptop, dismissing the video and loading a drawing-in-progress that had Cinna's ears rising in great curiosity. She padded over, settling in his lap.

The highly intimate sketch was a side view of a plump female squirrel lying on a bed, her posture and expression rich with keen anticipation, while a lean female rat knelt before her, one hand grasping hers, the other resting between her spread breasts, their muzzle a whisker from the apex of her vulva, just peeking past her thigh.

“Lovely art,” Cin complimented, then her smile turned knowing. “And strangely familiar.”

Jan chuckled. “To be fair, I started this a few weeks back, but I have to admit I am finding the video quite inspiring. I hope you don't mind.”

“Not if this is the end result,” the cat assured him. “What other erotic pieces have you done, if it's all right to ask?”

“Half a dozen.” Jan showed her three more – a pregnant female wolf lying back against a male, her tail curled just enough to obscure where they joined, his hand stroking her heavily-rounded belly; a pair of lions clutching each other, bodies pressed tight together, faces hard against one another, frozen between agony and ecstasy; a male grey fox with a chagrined expression on his face, while the male antelope he'd pretty clearly just accidentally tied with gave him a long-suffering stare. “Also a private piece, Sheavah's piece, and, believe it or not, one inspired by none other than Eric.”

“I believe you. Inspired, how?”

“I decided, on a whim, to take one of his pieces, and ask myself: how would _I_ draw this?” He showed one last image. A powerful tiger bent over a small civet he was joined with, cradling her head and haunches tenderly, and nuzzling her scalp in gentle concern, while she patted his back and flank reassuringly, a faint hint of discomfort showing past a flushed determination that verged on the comical. “This is what I came up with. Still not sure about it.”

“For what my opinion's worth,” Cinna responded, “I think it's a lovely piece. Light years better than anything Eric's done.”

Jan smiled, and kissed her scalp. “Your opinion's worth plenty. Can't exactly get my feedback elsewhere, after all.”

“You're not putting them online, then?”

“No. I've no desire to be caught between those who think I'm a porn artist now and want to denounce me, and people who think I'm a porn artist now and want to exploit me. I also don't want to risk going down the same slippery slope as far too many artists, and suddenly find I've turned into Eric. I'll just keep these pieces to myself, and my friends, and they can stay what they are, not be turned into things they aren't.”

“Fair enough.” Cin nuzzled his chin. “Going to work on one, now?”

“Actually, no.” Jan closed the erotic image, and loaded a blank file. “I feel like something more, for want of a better word, innocent. I hope this isn't inappropriate to ask, but do you think Lily would be willing to pose for some sketches?”

The cat chuckled. “I think she'd love to. Let me wake her and see.”

Slipping from his lap, she padded across to the sleeping bags, sinking into a crouch beside the lump inside them. Concern threaded onto her face on seeing it was fitfully trembling and twitching, with strange little grunts and gasps. She shook it, gently; it jerked, stayed taut for a long moment, then a pink snout peeked out, and wide, scared eyes.

A second later the fox-girl scrambled out, pressed herself hard against the cat, buried her face in their breasts, and clamped their hand over her vulva, holding it there. Cinna stared in shock and acute worry, then cradled her closely, kissed her scalp, managed to summon a soft purr from somewhere, and simply waited.

When Lily eventually spoke, it was in a whisper. “I...dreamed you'd all gone, and I was alone in the hotel, except it wasn't the hotel, as it was huge and dark and mazey and _weird_ and I couldn't find a way out...and someone was following me, but I couldn't see them, just hear them...a boy's voice calling me 'sexy little tease'...and wanting me to 'play' with them...and footsteps...and laughter...”

The vixen shivered, quite violently. Cinna held them tighter, nuzzling their scalp, and gently but fervently repeated “It was just a dream. Not real. You're safe.”

“But I heard him,” Lily eventually told her, faintly.

“In your dream.”

“No. Before the dream. When I got up to pee.”

Cin's blood turned to ice. “What?”

“Outside the door. Talking to someone.”

“When?” Jan asked, he, Verity and Leslie having gathered around, all looking as worried as the cat.

“Just before one o' clock. At least, that's what one of them said.”

“What else did they say?” Verity probed, gently.

“They were...arguing. One wanted to go to bed, the other wanted to keep looking for the rooms the...” Lily hesitated. “Weasel b...b...”

“We understand,” Cin soothed.

A flash of gratitude crossed the vixen's face. “And the 'sexy little pink tease' he wanted to 'play with' were in. That's when...when I knew...”

“It was Eric.” Leslie all but whispered, face pale.

Lily nodded. “And the other must have been an AnthroPet cause they were trying to follow your scents.”

“The grey cat.” Jan realised. “Trying?”

“He only knew traces, and couldn't pick them out with all of the other scents in the hotel, but Eric wouldn't listen.”

“That's something, I guess.” Cin looked haunted. “But knowing he got so close...” She shuddered, then used her free hand to lift the fox-girl's face and gaze intently at her. “I want you to promise me something. If Eric should somehow get in here, _run_. Get out, find someone to help, or somewhere to hide. Okay?”

Lily nodded. “I promise. And if he catches me, I'll hit him in the sack 'til he drops me, _then_ run.”

Cin laughed, kissed the fox-girl, then looked to the others, but before she could say anything knocks sounded at the door, making everyone jump. The cat smoothed her neck. “Why's Lacey come here alone?”

Jan moved to answer the door. The girl, in a mildly lopsided raccoon head and loose white t-shirt beneath red dungarees, practically barged her way in, pressing a large duffel bag into his arms.

“I brought the fun suit!” she proclaimed, in a broad estuary accent. “I hope you got the stamina!”

Cinna and Lily just caught a voice a way off outside muttering, “Ugh, murrsuiters...” then footfalls moving quickly away before the door was sharply closed by Lacey.

She sighed, slumping, then reclaimed her bag. “Sorry 'bout that,” she apologised, in her usual voice, “but I had to shake a tail. Seems Eric's minions are watching the corridors, and that one latched onto me even though I wore this janky old head I can't let go of to try and avoid that, so I, uh...” she laughed. “Improvised.”

Verity shot forward to hug her. “Why'd you even risk coming here to begin with?”

Lacey's head dipped. “Because I didn't feel safe alone. Not after...”

Lily looked up. “You heard Eric outside your door last night.”

Lacey jolted, then rushed to kneel by the vixen. “You heard him, too?”

Cinna filled her in. “What did you hear him say?”

“That he was gonna ruin me, and...” She hesitated a long time. “And savour Lily.” She shuddered. “Soured a perfectly good before-bed herb session. He's actually starting to scare me a little.”

“He scares me a _lot_ ,” Lily whispered, tremulously.

Lacey rubbed behind one of the vixen's ears. “Just remember, there's at _least_ seven people between him and you.” A nude, rumpled, damp and worried dobermann chose that moment to smother them all with hugs. “Among them a big, strong, gorgeous goofus of a dobegirl!” She returned their embrace with force. “Hey, Sab!”

“We heard everything,” the canine explained, as Hazel squeezed and kissed fox and cat. “And I can tell you, the only way that cat _might_ sniff out our rooms is to get a full whiff of our scents, which we're obviously not about to let him get.” Her head cocked. “Are you moving in, Lace?”

“No, but I figured it sensible to base myself here for the day, if no-one has any objections.”

“Why would we?” Leslie responded, with a grin.

“I'm noisy and have no concept of personal space.” Lacey slipped out of Sabine's embrace. “I'm gonna go change into something a lot more comfortable. Be right back!” She grabbed the weasel suit and a brush from the bag and went into the bathroom, not closing the door behind her. “It seems to me,” she called out, “Eric's getting desperate. Surely that's a good thing?”

“You mean he might push too far and get himself in trouble?” Leslie's head canted. “That's...actually pretty likely.”

“So all we have to do,” Hazel reasoned, as she dressed, “is carry on as normal, keep being careful, don't react, and let him scupper himself?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Lacey confirmed, just a flash of dark brown hair showing beyond the bathroom door. “I'm sure as heck not letting him put a crimp on my day! I got Big Things planned.”

“Such as?” Verity prompted.

“Fursuit Basics panel with Sabby, Fursuit Games this afternoon, some mooching round the dealers den trying not to get too mad when I can't find anything I like and can afford, then the Fursuit Dance Competition this evening, and finally my party stream, which I'm hoping you'll all be joining in on. Hint-hint.”

“All but me,” Jan told her. “I've got my own stream, which also means I'll have to miss the dance comp.”

“Well, darn,” Lacey sighed, rejoining them in full weasel form. “And I worked so hard on improving my war dance.”

“You'll be taping it, won't you?” Jan countered. “And someone has to stay with Lily.”

The vixen nosed his cheek as she and Cin got up, and made their way to the bathroom; they stepped into the shower together.

“True and true,” Lacey acquiesced, not resisting at all as Sabine drew her back into their arms. “What about during the games?”

“I'll give those a miss,” Hazel responded. “That'll give me a nice break between the literature panel and the dance competition, assuming I'm able to go to the former.”

“I'll keep you company,” Leslie volunteered; she got a grateful peck on the cheek from the rabbit. “And I'm going to be at a role-playing panel with Ginger after the games.”

“Other than the shopping,” Verity put in, “I'm taking part in a Scalies photoshoot before lunch, the games and the dance comp.”

“Sounds fun!” Sabine responded. “I'll tag along. Other than that, I'm basically gonna be wherever Lacey is.”

The weasel sighed beatifically, petting the dog's flank. “My handsome knight in shining whatever-the-heck-that-bodysuit's-made-out-of.”

“Actually, I was just gonna wear shorts and a crop top, today.”

Lacey moaned theatrically. “How do you know all my weaknesses?!”

“ _She_ 's your weakness!” Cinna teased, she and Lily briskly shampooing each other's fur. “My plans are just bikini shopping, the games and the dance comp. When are you at your stall today, Jan?”

“From den opening until the games, then until closing.”

“Right. I can keep you company between the games and dance comp, and hopefully someone else can do the rest...” She left it hanging.

Leslie and Verity picked it up.

“All of which means,” the latter concluded, “that no-one's going to be alone today, and there'll always be somebody with Lily. Perfect.” She clapped her hands. “Leslie, Hazel, Cin – when you're ready...”

“Almost done!” the cat called, she and the fox rapidly rinsing off.

“If someone could bring some breakfast up,” Jan requested, retaking his seat, “my attractive model and I would be most grateful.”

Lily padded across to him, rubbing herself vigorously with a towel and looking somewhere between shy and coy. “You think I'm attractive?”

Jan smiled. “You're pretty, charming, strong and full of life, so yes.”

Lily's ears tinged, a bashful one of her own surfacing. “And you'd like me to model for you?”

Jan nodded. “In whatever way you're most comfortable. So...?”

Lily beamed, hugged him, nuzzling his face and murring. “Yes!”

“Thank you,” a now dressed Cin mouthed to the man, gratitude bright in her own wide smile, then eased Lily away from him just long enough to kiss the fox-girl's muzzle warmly. “Have fun, and we'll see you again later.” Her ears perked. “Maybe we can get _you_ a bikini, hm?”

Lily giggled. “A gold one!”

“With sparkles!” Cinna waved as she, Leslie, Verity and Hazel left.

Lacey sprang to her feet, then pulled Sabine up. “Get yer togs on, Sab; we need to get movin', too. Wanna get a good seat!”

“All right, all right.” Laughing, the dobermann stepped briefly into the bathroom, fluidly slipped on dark red crop top and shorts that hugged her form pleasantly, grinned at the way Lacey stared, then caught the weasel's hand and led them out. “Back in an hour or so!”

They headed along the corridor with some caution, but saw no sign of Eric or his companions. In the con spaces there was still no trace, and the pair quickly relaxed amongst the lively throng, barring a brief spike when Lacey thought she glimpsed the sharp-faced girl. She was quick to dismiss it, and they entered the panel's room in high spirits.

Their mood remained buoyant throughout what proved a thoroughly entertaining demonstration and discussion, the host and the quartet of suiters helping them having a great rapport. The single sour note was Ginger, who entered just before the panel started, sat right at the back, stayed quiet and distant, and left without saying a word to Sabine and Lacey, right after the hearty applause at the end.

The weasel raced to catch them, weaving through the crowd filtering into the corridor; she couldn't see Ginger, but spotted the sharp-faced girl a split second before a paper cup filled with soda hit her square in the chest, soaking it. In the seconds it took for Lacey to recover, with help from Sabine, the girl was gone.

A member of con staff was drawn by the ensuing commotion, calming things quickly, talking to everyone, assuring a shaking weasel-girl that action would be taken, then setting off after the culprit. Sabine made haste to escort Lacey out of the con spaces and up the stairs; instead of going to the girl's room, however, she insisted they go to the group's.

Jan answered the door, and didn't hesitate to usher them in, checking if anyone had followed, then locking it again. “What happened?”

Sabine explained, shaking her head. “I guess we're lucky people saw her throw it, but if Lacey's suit is ruined because of it...”

The weasel flapped a paw. “Nah, it'll clean up. It'll just take forever to dry, so I can't wear it again today, and maybe not tomorrow, which I'm _really hecking hecked off about_.” She seethed, paws clenching.

A small hand touched her lower arm; Lily, freshly emerged from the wardrobe, looked up at her. “Can I help?”

Lacey stared, then sighed, paws easing, and ruffled the fox's scalp. “If you've some detergent handy, and don't mind me using your bath.”

“Of course not,” Jan assured her. “But we don't have any detergent.”

“I've got some in my room.” The weasel proffered her keycard. “If you and Sabine could go get it...”

“We'll be right back.” Sabine took it, squeezed the girl's paw, then she and Jan hastened out.

Lacey secured the door, then in quick succession shed her tail, gloves and feet, setting them aside. Lily helped pull down the zip at the back of the suit, and the weasel sloughed it and the slate grey tank top, also wet, she wore underneath. This left her in just slate grey under-shorts and her suit head.

She took the bodysuit and the tank top into the bathroom, where she set them ready, before returning to the main room and subsiding onto one of the beds, stretching out on her back; her eyes found Lily. “If you wanna ask me something, now's the time; I could use the distraction.”

The vixen settled astride the weasel-girl's hips, hands resting on their stomach, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the dark, red-tinted tattoo on their left breast, a delicate ring of flowers and leaves circling their nipple. “That's pretty! But it musta hurt to get.”

Lacey chuckled. “Actually, no. It's not a real tattoo.”

Lily blinked and peered closer. “It looks real.” She reached out toward it, and at a nod ran a finger over it. “Feels real, too. Not painted.”

“It's henna,” Lacey explained. “Stains the skin. Lasts a coupla weeks if you look after it, so if you wanna keep a design you have to reapply it, but if ya don't like it, easy to change it.”

Excitement lit in Lily's eyes, her finger resting on it, just below Lacey's nipple. “Wonder if it'll work on fur?”

The weasel laughed. “You never know! If it did, pretty sure it'd look a lot better on you than me. As if I didn't envy you enough already.”

Lily's ears cocked to confused angles. “Envy? Me?”

“Well, all of you gen-u-wine furries, really.” A little self-consciousness crept in. “I, uh...”

The vixen stiffened, her ears then her head snapping toward the door, then she bolted for the wardrobe. “Cleaner!”

After she sprang silently inside and tucked herself behind a long coat of Leslie's, her tail clasped tight to her chest, she heard Lacey slipping on a shirt of Jan's and setting their suit head aside while a smart series of knocks sounded at the room's door. The wardrobe one closed, then footfalls quickly moved to answer the other.

Breathing slow and steady and light, Lily listened to Lacey conversing casually with the cleaner as they looked over the room. They seemed friendly enough, sympathetic at the state of the weasel-girl's suit, and complimentary about the orderliness of everything, but were also very thorough, which spiked the vixen's heart rate just a little.

It jumped dramatically when the cleaner crossed to the wardrobe and opened the door. Lily froze, holding her breath, closing her eyes, pulse throbbing in her ears. Agonising moments of silence eked past, then a humorously relieved aside from the cleaner about not finding another soiled murrsuit was accompanied by the closing of the door.

The fox-girl didn't even twitch a muscle until they'd left the room and their footsteps had faded completely. Sagging from the wardrobe with a gasp, she immediately fetched up against Lacey, who steadied her in their arms, then cradled her.

“That,” the weasel-girl husked, “was too hecking close.”

Lily nodded against their chest, keeping her eyes down. “Can't believe he looked in the wardrobe...”

Lacey let loose a long breath, then chuckled. “What's with the sudden bout of shyness, hm?”

“Didn't think you wanted anyone to see your human face.”

“Human...” Lacey started, yelped, jumped away to grab and thump on her fursuit head, whipped off the shirt and rehung it in the wardrobe, then drew the vixen back to the bed, where she sat with them cradled in her lap. “Am I ever glad you're such a well-mannered young lady. If you're wondering what a murrsuit is, by the way...”

“I think I know,” Lily replied, ears colouring and trembles fading, and a mix of playfulness and curiosity taking over. “It's for having sex in, but I don't know _how_...”

“Zips,” Lacey explained, succinctly, then her lip audibly curled. “Most furs that have one, though, clean them afterwards, and _definitely_ don't leave them in wardrobes for nosy hotel staff to find.”

“How'd the cleaner know what it was?” Lily wondered.

“Good point.” Lacey rubbed her muzzle. “Very few people outside of the fandom would know a murrsuit when they saw o-”

“They're back!” the vixen cheered, jumping up.

A moment later the lock clicked, the door opened, and Sabine, Verity, Hazel, Leslie, Cin and Jan all entered, the latter carrying a bottle, all of the others holding paper bags. He took quick glances up and down the corridor before closing and locking the door. A second after Cinna had set her bag down Lily tackle-hugged her.

“Hey-what...?” The cat looked down at them in confusion. “What did we miss?”

Lacey told them, with help from the fox-girl. “Call me paranoid, but I can't help worrying about that cleaner...”

“Maybe he's been working here a few years, and gotten to know what to expect,” Verity suggested.

“Let's hope.” Cin knelt down, sharing a press of lips with Lily. “Is there anything else, Lil?”

“I wanna get a tattoo!” the vixen proclaimed, eagerly.

“ _What_?!” Cinna 's ears flared. “No! No-no-no.”

“Not a real one!” Lily laughed. “A henna one like Lacey's!”

Cin breathed out, and stroked their scalp. “Tell you what: when we're home, we'll look into it. All right?”

Lily nodded happily, nuzzle-kissing the side of the cat's snout. “Thank you!” Then she called to Lacey, who was heading to the bathroom with the detergent. “Wanna help?”

“Love to!” the weasel called back. “I got lots of ideas.”

Verity caught their arm. “What are you planning for the games?”

“My other bodysuit. Wear my bikini over it, it'll be fine.”

The dark-skinned girl shook her head. “Much too risky.”

“I'll have you, Sabby, Cin, Jan and Leslie to watch over me, won't I?”

“True, but with how into the games you get...”

“Won't happen this time, and I _need_ to be full weasel. I'll be _fine_.”

Verity released her, reluctantly, and watched pensively as they closed the bathroom door. “Wish I had your confidence.” Noticing the others were gathering around Jan's laptop, she joined them.

They were admiring three sketches of Lily; the first was a side view of her lying on her belly on a bed, muzzle resting on her folded arms, legs kicked up, tail draped mostly out of sight behind her; the second was a front view of her in a slightly lopsided headstand, her legs spread wide and her tail resting between her ears; the last was of her standing at an angle with one leg resting on its toes behind the other, hands held out in front of her like she was brandishing a sword, her ears keenly perked and a determined smile on her face.

“They're _fantastic_!” Cin cheered. “I want them framed on my wall!”

It was hard to tell if Jan or Lily blushed harder.

“I'll admit,” the man told her, “the warrior one is speaking to me, but I do have some doubts...”

“Understandable.” Verity patted his shoulder. “But you know we're all behind you, regardless. Think about it a while.”

Jan nodded. “I will.” He closed the laptop. “I need to go open my stall, so if you're ready, Squeaks...”

“Don't you want to see my bikini, first?” Leslie teased.

“Tempting, but save it for later.” Jan kissed her cheek, then caught her hand and led her out.

“Talking of bikinis...” Cinna collected her bag, took a package from it, and handed that to Lily.

The fox-girl's eyes bulged, her tail went wild, and she leapt at the cat, peppering their face with fierce kisses.

“Put it on!” Cin encouraged, grinning. “Make sure it fits.”

Lily excitedly tore the package open, rapidly pulled on the garments it had contained, then rushed to the long mirror set in the door of the wardrobe to look at herself. The modestly-cut bikini was gold, shading white on the flanks, with a subtly shimmering sheen throughout, and it was snugly comfortable.

Her eyes found a way to get bigger, and she hugged and kissed Cinna even more ebulliently. “It's so gorgeous and comfy and I love it _so, so, so,so, so much_!”

Cinna laughed, eyes shining, and returned several of the kisses. “Let's hope you get a chance to use it soon, hm?”

The next couple of hours passed with many comings and goings, two separate lunches of reasonable quality, a brief but contented snuggle and doze on the parts of Cin and Lily, then Hazel settled in with the fox and all the others headed to the main stage, positively bubbling with anticipation. They discovered a busy, noisy room, at least two-thirds of the chairs now lined around the edges taken, and all bar Lacey settled on the left-hand side, Cin holding the weasel's camera.

Verity, wearing her full suit with dark green leggings and long-sleeved shirt, was the first to notice an anomaly. “Where's Freckles?”

Jan frowned. “Maybe something came up?”

“Then who's hosting?” Lapis wondered.

Five pairs of eyes cast over the people, most of them in full or partial fursuit, milling and goofing around in the open middle of the room, but although a pair of assistants were easy to spot courtesy of their bright red armbands no-one could pinpoint who'd be in charge. Finally, just a couple of minutes after the advertised start time, someone stepped to the very centre, holding a wireless microphone: a maroon weasel clad in a warm yellow bikini.

“ _Lacey_?!” the whole group yelped, as Cinna fumbled to start filming.

The weasel gave them a wave, visibly drew a breath, then tucked the head of the microphone into her muzzle. “Quiet, please!” she called.

The room quickly fell silent, all eyes, many of them confused, on her.

“I know, I know; I'm not the bubbly, spotty beauty you were expecting to be hosting, but life got in her way at the last minute, so you're stuck with me, instead. I'm Lacey, and welcome to the Fursuit Games!”

Much of the bewilderment melted into enthusiastic cheers, loudest of all from her five friends.

“Important stuff, first. We have a headless area in the back, and drink stations on either side. There will be two-minute breaks between the games, and a five-minute one at the mid-point. _Please_...” Her gaze fell on Ginger. “Make good use of them, and remember, it's far better to sit out a game than pass out in the middle of it. All clear?”

She got a slew of nods and affirmative calls.

“Good. We've some fun games lined up, and if all of you behave, and we have time, we _might_ consider making use of the spare chairs.”

A huge cheer rose at this.

“But _only_ if you behave!” Lacey stressed, mirth in her voice. “Are you ready for the first game?”

“Yes!” the room called back.

“Then we'll kick off with a nice warm-up: Red Light, Green Light!” She moved to the rear centre of the room, right in front of the screened-off headless area. “If you could kindly all line up facing me on the opposite side of the floor...”

A rush of movement rapidly resulted in a line of twenty suiters, Lapis and Sheavah among them, looking at her from across the area.

“Very good!” Lacey praised. “For the half-dozen furs who don't know the rules: your goal is simply to get across the room. Thing is, you can only move when I say 'Green Light'. You must stop whenever I say 'Red Light'. If I or one of my glamorous assistants see you moving while the Red Light is on, you're out. First fur to reach the other side, or last fur still in, wins. Everyone _ready_?”

The suiters cheered.

“Then...” Lacey drew out the pause, than sharply turned away. “Green Light!”

Most of the suiters rushed forward, Lapis and Ginger with them, while Sheavah and one other adopted a more cautious pace. A yellow skunk with white stripes and a huge curl of a tail tethered to their back took off fastest, getting almost fully across before Lacey spun back round.

“Red Light!” she hollered.

Everyone froze. For some, like a certain kobold, it was easy; for others it was harder, several shifting unsteadily, one wavering then falling; for the skunk, caught in an awkward running posture, it was a struggle and a half. The assistants tapped out the fallen one and three others, while Lacey paced slowly around the skunk, examining them intently.

“So close,” the weasel-girl finally sighed, with a shake of the head; her arms snapped out to steady the skunk as they toppled toward her. “But so far. You're out!” As they slumped off, head low, she returned to her original position, back turned once more. “Green Light!”

The next Red Light caught no-one out, but the third, coming just two seconds after the preceding Green light, caught the suiters so off guard several, Lapis and Ginger among them, collapsed in a jumbled pile, the mouse's face smothered by the cat's bikini-clad breasts. Once they'd untangled themselves they glared at Lacey, then stalked off. Two more Red Lights reduced the suiters to only six, one of them Sheavah, every one within feet of finishing.

A second rapid-fire Red Light and Lacey found herself practically nose to nose with the kobold, who was angled toward her in a manner that looked quite precarious. She set her hands on her hips. “If you believe I'm gonna play favourites...” She stepped back, just before Sheavah fell forwards, resting against her. “You're wrong. _Out_!”

The reptile trudged away, muttering. One last Green Light saw a blue cabbit cross the line, prompting a pretty energetic celebration. Lacey congratulated them, called the first break, and jogged over to join the group, easing the microphone from her muzzle.

“How'm I doing?” she asked.

“Really well!” Sheavah assured her, having followed her over. “But it's a shock seeing you hosting to begin with. Since when have you been staff here?”

“Since about, uh, six months ago,” Lacey admitted, fiddling her paws.

“And you were going to tell us _when_?”

“When I knew I was actually gonna be doing something, and since I'm a reserve, that could have been never. I only found out I'd be stepping in here last night, and couldn't resist surprising you with it.”

“Well,” Jan remarked, “at least we know why you were so determined to not go partial.”

“If I'm hosting, it's full weasel or nothing.” Lacey bobbed her head. “I gotta get the next game started. Talk to ya again after!” She hastened off, tucking the microphone back into her muzzle.

“Good thing Eric's not here,” Cin noted, panning the camera from the skunk and the cabbit booping each other's noses to the weasel. “He'd never be able to resist causing trouble.”

“Has anyone actually seen him today?” Sabine asked.

Everyone responded in the negative.

“Wasn't even at his stall,” Jan reported. “The grey cat's running it.”

Sheavah turned to rejoin the games. “Then where is he...?”

“Game two!” Lacey called out. “Balloon Race! You'll notice my lovely assistants laying out two lines of cones. We're gonna split you into two teams, and you're gonna race, in pairs, to get a balloon to the ends of these lines intact. Two catches! One: you have to slalom through the cones. Two!” Lacey took a balloon from one of the baskets of them set at the start of the cone lines. “You have to carry them like this!”

One of the assistants joined her, and they carefully pinned the balloon between their chests, lightly holding onto each other. Murmurs filled the room, along with quite a bit of laughter. Some of it was directed at a cone that was, for no apparent reason, sporting googly eyes and had a flashing light on top.

“No using your paws!” Lacey continued, as she and her assistant took the balloon around a cone, using slow, shuffling steps. “Drop a balloon, you go back to the start. Pop a balloon, you go back to the start. First team to get all five pairs, with intact balloons, to the end of the lines, is the winner. All clear?”

“Yes!” the suiters responded, though there was quite a bit of doubt.

Lacey laughed. “Pair up, then we'll choose teams, and cue the chaos!”

The suiters quickly sorted themselves into duos, Lapis and the cabbit as one, Sheavah and the skunk as another. They ended up on opposing teams, which were gathered at the starts of the cone courses, the first pairs taking balloons and getting into position.

Lacey stood at the back centre of the room again. “Everyone ready?”

“Yes!”

“Then three...two...one... _go_!”

To a surge of cheers from the audience, the race began, both starting duos struggling to keep their balloon in place. The pair on Lapis' team dropped theirs at the same time as those on Sheavah's popped theirs, groaning laughter rising in response.

“We could be here a while, folks!” Lacey quipped.

Things did pick up after the first two pairs, Lapis and the cabbit doing particularly well, but then Sheavah and the skunk took their turn, and the latter proved so clumsy they burst two balloons and dropped three before they finally reached the end. The kobold just laughed it off and hugged them, and they both set to cheering on their team's next pair, Ginger and a dark purple wolf, who raced through the course, drawing things practically level again.

The final duos swapped the lead back and forth several times, until a last-gasp surge by the one on Sheavah's team took them to victory, and the cheers peaked. Lacey congratulated and commiserated as needed, called the next break, then grabbed a bottle of water and rejoined the group, sitting on Sabine's lap as she drank from it.

“Ginger's looking livelier,” she commented.

“Happy to see it,” Leslie responded. “They were really subdued when I saw them in the dealer's den. Barely said a word.”

“Maybe they'll be willing to talk, now,” Cin suggested.

Jan nodded. “We'll try again after the g...” He trailed off, gaze fixed on the door, then sagged. “That was close...”

“What was?” Cinna prompted, as all eyes looked to him.

“The grey cat just passed by,” Jan explained. “Glanced in here, but no more, thankfully.”

“That _is_ a relief,” Leslie sighed. “Doubt they'd have helped the mood.”

“Definitely not.” Lacey shivered comically. “Should have seen how he killed it at the...” She froze, a paw drifting to her bikini top.

“Lace?” Sabine queried, after a moment. “Are you all right?”

The weasel started. “Fine!” She patted the dobermann between their ears. “I'm fine. Just being a dumb woozle.” She sprang to her feet and moved away. “Better get the next game started!”

Jan and Leslie stared after her, confused, while Cin and Sabine shared a quick, concerned look. Before anyone could say or do anything else, Lacey was calling the room to attention for a game of charades, much to Sheavah's slumping despair and Lapis' capering delight. They ended up on the same team, while Ginger was put on the opposing one.

The cat's team went first, lining up, then on Lacey's signal the one at the front stepped forward, got their phrase from the weasel, then tried their best to act it out while the crowd shouted guesses. For the most part they managed a decent pace, only really stalling when the cabbit struggled to mime 'shapes in clouds', and once the three minutes were up they'd racked up eighteen successes.

Lapis took the lead for her team, bouncing on the spot, while Sheavah slouched at the back, looking like she was queuing for the dentist. The mouse's enthusiasm visibly deflated on skipping up to Lacey and being told their phrase, and there was a definite pause before they began to act it out. It took a painful age for someone in the crowd to guess it, a frustrated rodent moving to the rear of the line afterwards.

The rest of the team worked through theirs quickly, until Sheavah was stepping up. Her slump straightened dramatically on hearing what she had to mime, and she proceeded to dance a smart and lively jig on the spot. The answer came almost instantly, and she punched the air and gave Lacey a fleeting hug before slipping to the back of the team.

Just as she reached the front again time was called. Nineteen correct guesses meant they'd won, a victory exuberantly celebrated by mouse and kobold. The five minute break was announced, and they followed Lacey back to the others, the weasel retaking Sabine's lap, Lapis doing her best to fit on Jan's, and Sheavah sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“I _hate_ that game,” the kobold muttered, between gulps of drink from a bottle, answering Cin's questioning expression. “I'm useless at it, and I swear Freckles deliberately gave me the hardest phrases.” She perked up, looking at Lacey. “So I have to thank _you_ for showing me mercy.”

“I figured you deserved a break, for once,” the weasel told her. “And I knew I had to give you that one as soon as I saw it.”

“You're a great dancer!” Sabine praised the kobold. “Did you say you were part of the dance competition? If not, you really ought to be.”

“Oh, she will be,” Lacey confirmed. “And this year she's gonna win!”

“Well, Starrybright might have something to say about that,” Sheavah demurred, with a chuckle. “You and your improved war dance, too.”

“Oh, I'm sure I'll find some new and exciting way to mess up,” Lacey dismissed, with a laugh. “Trip over my paws and bash my snoot flat on the floor; go flying over the judges' table and smash them like skittles; spin myself into such an advanced state of dizziness I stumble right out of the room, into the corridor, brain a passing hotel manager, and get drop-kicked out the front door. So many possibilities!”

“You can't really be that bad!” Cin giggled.

“Wanna bet? Two years ago I very nearly took Caper's legs out from under him, and last year one of my footpaws flew at the audience and would have whacked some poor gryphon upside the head if Sheavah's reflexes weren't so sharp.” The weasel loosed a wry sigh. “And as much as I've worked my tail off to get better, there's always the chance I'll do something dumb again this year.”

“Are you all right?” Sabine asked, gently. “You seem a little...off.”

“I'm _fine_.” The weasel insisted, a little too firmly. “Not even the tiniest bit worried I've made a massive mistake that might cost me everything good in my life.” She tried to bolt away again, but the dog caught her.

“Tell us,” they insisted, quietly but firmly.

Lacey squirmed, then deflated. “Later. After the games.”

“You promise?” Sheavah pressed.

The weasel held up a paw. “I promise.”

“We'll hold you to that,” Jan warned.

“We care about you too much not to.” Cin pressed their paw.

Lacey sighed again, stared round the group, then chuckled softly. “You almost make me want to do something I'll _really_ regret.” Unrestrained by the dog, she slipped away.

Sheavah watched her go. “You really wouldn't.”

The weasel showed no hint of her troubles when, a minute later, she introduced the fourth game. The suiters were split into two teams and lined up in parallel, holding paws, then the one at the back of each line was handed a large plastic hoop. The aim was for each of them to pass through the hoop, one-by-one, without letting go of each other, until it reached the front. First team to manage it won.

Ginger, Sheavah and Lapis were all on the same team, and got off to a good start, the lizard flowing rapidly through the hoop along with two others, but stalled a little when the mouse struggled to get her sizeable legs through, even with those who'd already managed it trying to help out. Then it got to the skunk, and made it no further.

They strained and bent and twisted but could not work the hoop past their tail and body, and when the other team got theirs to the end, and cheered in celebration, they sagged guiltily, the ring hanging from the top of their tail. Sheavah, Ginger and Lapis hugged them together, and pretty quickly others joined in, until a giggling skunk was buried under all nineteen of the other suiters.

Lacey tried to excavate them, only to be pulled in herself, complaining and laughing all the way. “Hey! Watch the bikini! How are you gonna play more games if you smother the host ta death? Well, I can think of worse ways to go. Last will and testament of Lacey T Weasel: I leave all my clothes to Sheavah and my collection of really bad movie posters to Jan. Tell Sabine I really kinda really like her. Farewell, cruel world!”

When the furpile dissolved, the skunk was left splayed on the ground, laughing, while Lacey was leaning on Sheavah, straightening her bikini and twisting her head straight. After a pause for drinks, she tucked the microphone back into her muzzle.

“All righty! We're doing well so far, and there's one more game left to play, so we might just get to use those spare chairs after all!”

A lusty cheer.

“ _But_...only if this game goes quickly, and that rather depends on how _hungry_ you all are. This is Zombies!”

Many ravenous groans sounded, and several suiters started to shuffle and shamble around. Sheavah dragged herself over to the weasel, and tried to gnaw on their neck, only to be held off by a paw to the face.

“Knew this one would be trouble,” Lacey sighed, with a long-suffering shake of the head. “We'll start with five zombies and fifteen living. All the zombies want to do is chew on furry flesh, all the living want to do is stay that way. Zombies can deadify the living by biting their necks, a little bit like this...”

She released Sheavah, who started enthusiastically chewing. “Gnar.”

“The living can neutralise the zombies with a pat on the back of the head, a bit like this...” Lacey rapped on the rear of Sheavah's skull, and the kobold promptly crumpled to the floor. “ _However –_ and this is the catch – the living must remember to tap a neutralised zombie's head a second time, or, after a count of ten...” She began to back off.

Sheavah surged to her feet and lunged for the weasel, who took off at a run. “Rargh!”

“They come back, faster, meaner and hungrier!” Lacey raced around the room, the slavering kobold right behind her. “And if they bite you, you become a super-zombie, too!” She started twisting and jinking, her paw going for the back of the reptile's head while dodging their flailing swipes; when she finally made contact, they collapsed again. “You can still neutralise them, and this time they'll stay down, but it ain't easy!”

A palpable excitement was growing in the room.

“If the living fully neutralise the zombies before they're all dead, they win. If the zombies turn everyone, they win. I shouldn't have to stress this but I will: don't go too crazy. Look after each other. This is meant to be a fun, kinetic game, not a fuzzy demolition derby. My glamorous assistants and I will be watching closely, and if you get too rough, you'll be pulled out. Is all of that understood?”

“Yes!” the suiters cheered.

“Good!” Lacey helped Sheavah stand, hugged the kobold firmly, then stepped to the back middle of the room, in front of the headless area, and took a breath. “Assistants, pick five zombies.” A quintet of suiters were chosen, the skunk and Sheavah among them. “Everybody spread out.” The contestants did so, the zombies evenly spaced. “And...”

There was a long, pregnant pause.

“ _Go!_ ”

Things were pretty madcap right from the start, the zombies shuffling about erratically, lunging and grasping, the living ducking and dodging either to get away or try to tap the back of an undead head. Amidst it all Sheavah kept making swipes for an increasingly indignant Lacey. A zombie went down, and was fully neutralised, but then the purple wolf startled away from another and right into the teeth of the skunk.

They then teamed up to turn the blue cabbit, who got taken down a moment later, but the skunk and wolf chased off their conqueror, and a count of ten later a super-zombie was born. With a ravening cabbit now on the loose the chaos ramped up fast, the living scattering wildly, and more falling to the undead in the process.

There was a brief moment of hope for the living when the cabbit fell, only to be dashed when Lapis then Sheavah turned super in the space of thirty seconds. After that it was a pure bloodbath, suiter after suiter going down screaming under ever greater swarms of zombies, until all twenty had joined the ranks of the undead.

“Zombies win!” Lacey announced, when the voluminous cheers died away. “And no-one died for real, _and_ we're great for time! I call that a result! Take a break, try not to devour too many innocent bystanders, then we'll play some musical chairs!”

That got a huge roar of approval. The suiters dispersed, several still in zombie mode, shambling to the audience and cheerfully munching on their friends. Lapis vanished into the headless area, and Sheavah tried to chase down Lacey again, but her hunt came to an abrupt halt when she tripped on a trailing tail. As she fell one of her flailing paws caught the weasel's hip, dragging their bikini bottoms down on that side.

Lacey yelped and yanked them back up. “Shea, what the _heck_?!”

The kobold scrambled up. “Lacey, I didn't...I tripped...I'm _so_ sorry!”

An ocelot, one of many people staring at the pair, spoke up before the weasel could answer. “Is that a murrsuit?”

“ _NO!_ ” Lacey and Sheavah snapped.

Across the room, noticed only by Sabine, Ginger started, sagged, and trudged away, head low. The dobermann tried to catch them, but was held up by playfully tussling suiters, and when she finally reached the door there was no sign of the cat. Slumping a little herself she walked back to her seat.

Lacey took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. “I mean, no, it isn't a murrsuit. It _is_ personal, though, so please don't ask about it again.” A second breath, then she raised her voice. “Sorry 'bout that. Just a little accident. Are we all ready for the last game?” Her head canted. “Wait, where's Ginger?”

“They left,” Sabine reported. “They looked upset.”

“Upset? Why would...?” Lacey's head tilted the other way. “Oh. Any idea where they went?”

“No.”

The weasel rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I'll have to find them and talk to them when we're done here.” She straightened up. “Right now, we need seventeen chairs in the middle of the room, please!”

As the chairs were gathered, Sheavah tried to talk to Lacey. “Lace, I...”

“Later.” The weasel put a paw to the kobold's mouth. “In private.”

To a soundtrack of cheerfully cheesy pop nine rapid rounds of musical chairs played out, the suiters dancing to the best known songs as they circled, until just three players were left, one of them the skunk. When the last burst of music ended, it was the latter that got their rear in the seat, and they threw their paws up in celebration.

As the skunk was hoisted onto the shoulders of two other suiters and paraded round the room Lacey brought the games to a close. She and the others waited for everyone else to file out before taking their own leave. In the corridor, they came face to face with the grey cat, whose gaze lingered on Lacey for a long moment before he moved past them and vanished into the lounge.

Back in the group's room, Lacey sat on the edge of a bed, her head in her paws. “Well, I'm dead. Why was I so hecking _stupid_?”

Verity removed her suit then cautiously sat beside her. “I'd say it was more bad luck. Him showing up at the pool, the girl throwing the drink at you, bumping into him in the corridor.”

“But _I_ chose to wear this!” The weasel tugged at her bikini top. “If I'd just gone partial, he'd never have figured it out!”

“We don't know if he has.” Sabine sat the other side of them, laying a paw on their shoulder.

“He knows.” Lacey's voice was close to a sob. “I saw it in his eyes. He knows, and he'll tell Eric, and Eric'll use it against me. I'm _dead_.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Verity averred.

Lacey stiffened. “Oh, heck, you know, too. I mean, of course you do, I just pretty much told you, but it's still a scary thought.”

Verity risked taking their paw. “I knew within a minute of seeing you at the pool.”

“And Cin and I knew the moment we smelled you at the pool,” Sabine supplied. “But none of us said anything because, well...”

“It wasn't our place to,” Cinna finished, sitting on the floor with Lily in her lap, the vixen still in their bikini.

Lacey gave a weak laugh. “Like I said: stupid. I don't even know why I went to the pool when I _knew_ you'd figure it out...”

“Because you wanted us to?” Verity suggested, gently. “Because you don't want to hide from your friends any more?” Her eyes dipped. “If I still count as a friend after what I just did...”

“That was an accident. And besides...” Lacey stood, slowly slipped off her gloves, footpaws, tail, bikini and bodysuit, then sat again and, after some slightly shaky breaths, took off her head. A brown-haired Korean girl, attractive in a quirky way, smiled anxiously at Verity, and spoke in a soft, shy voice. “You're not a friend. You're a sister.”

The dark-skinned girl hugged them. Tightly. “Damn right.” She eased back, and caressed their cheek. “So...what can Eric do that would hurt you so much, and what can we do to stop him?”

Lacey fiddled with the head cradled in her lap, her own down. “Well, when the cat tells Eric that Lacey's a Korean girl with short brown hair Eric's gonna remember the Korean girl with short brown hair he spent most of a month trying to chat up by repeatedly visiting their parents' restaurant where she works as a waitress and think 'if I phone up the place to tell her parents of her moonlighting as a furry I can get her in serious trouble' and this dumb woozle would either be disowned and chucked out or locked in the basement for the rest of her natural life and never get to see any of the people she loves ever again...”

Her shoulders were shaking by the end. Everyone else gathered in to hold her, not budging until the sobs finally began to subside.

“He can't know for sure it's you,” Hazel told her, gently.

“He can.” Lacey looked defeated. “He took photos at the restaurant.”

“Would your parents even believe him?” Leslie asked.

“No question.” The Korean girl's tone was mordant. “They never miss a chance to think the worst of me. I suppose the one good thing is he won't be able to tell my parents, or my sister, right away; they're all on holiday. That's how I was able to come.”

“That gives us some time.” Verity was still holding them. “Any family who could help?”

Lacey shook her head. “No, my parents have alienated everyone, and I've not seen the one person who persisted, my uncle, in months.”

“Then it's up to us.” Sabine caught the weasel's hand. “Abigail and I'd not hesitate to put you up if you get chucked out.”

“But I couldn't pay you, and I'd feel guilty rooming for free.”

“I know a bookstore that would love a new staff member.” Hazel told her, touching her arm.

“And if they lock you in the basement,” Verity assured, “we'll mount a rescue mission, break you out, and _then_ you can room with Sabine and work at the bookshop. We'll get you through this, I _swear_.”

Watery eyes smiled at the dark-skinned girl, then Lacey kissed her on the mouth. “Thank you.” She then kissed everyone else, Lily included, and laughed softly. “Thank all of you.” She straightened up a bit. “Now I just need to hope he hasn't splashed my face all over social media.”

“Let's see.” Jan booted up his laptop, then loaded a profile. “Last post was two minutes ago, and says 'Big reveal in room party stream at nine tonight, DO NOT MISS'. Guess he wants to make a splash of it.”

“Of course he does.” Verity rolled her eyes.

“No hint of where he's been, though.” Jan shut his laptop. “You could beat him to it, reveal your face on your own terms, if you wanted.”

Lacey nodded. “I'll have to. Just don't know how. I need time to think about it.”

“Maybe stay here with Lily and I a while,” Hazel suggested.

“Maybe.” Lacey drew breath. “I suppose you'd all like an explanation of the second body suit?”

“Only if you're comfortable,” Sabine responded.

“I'm not, really, but what's the point in hiding anything, now? Human me has an awful life. I hate it. Weasel me has a great life. I love it. If I could be weasel me all the time, I would. It got to the point I hated to take my head off, and then..then it got worse. You remember I said I envy you A-Pets, Lily?”

The vixen nodded, then her ears snapped upright. “Oh! You mean...”

“I mean...” Lacey closed her eyes. “I mean, mad as it sounds, I want to _be_ a weasel. It's mad because it wont make a lick of difference, really, but it _feels_ like it would. It feels like I could really escape. The suit was an attempt to get closer to that.” She picked it up, showing the nipples on the chest and the vulva between the legs. “I was convinced no-one other than Verry would ever understand, so I kept it secret.”

Sabine nuzzled her cheek. “I wouldn't be so sure about that.”

“I think every one of us understands a need to escape,” Jan told her.

“Yes, but...”

“And therianthropy's a thing,” Leslie added.

“Yes, but...”

“And even if we didn't understand, do you _really_ think we'd judge?” A smiling Hazel asked.

Lacey's lips threatened to curl up, too, more tension leaving. “I never said I was being rational. Blinded by anxiety. Seeing clearer, now.”

“Good.” Verity squeezed her. “One down, one to go.”

“Oh, yeah; Ginger.” The Korean girl bobbed her head. “I think I've an idea why they've been acting strangely.”

“They're anxious about something, too,” Cinna supplied.

“Something they think we'll react badly to,” Leslie continued.

“Exactly. And do any of you remember what _they_ reacted badly to?”

“It was when the ocelot asked if you were wearing a murrsuit,” Sabine recalled. “And you and Verity loudly denied it.”

“Then there's our answer,” the dark-skinned girl stated. “Ginger has a murrsuit, and is afraid we'll hate them for it. Of course, we won't, but they won't see that, especially...”

“Especially if someone, someone whose name likely begins with an E, is playing on their anxiety,” Jan finished.

“Every time you think you can't hate him more,” Cin drawled.

“I'll try to talk to them if they appear at the role-playing panel,” Leslie decided. “Get them to come up here, maybe.”

“Ginger knows our room number,” Verity reasoned, “so maybe they'll come here of their own accord.”

Lacey stiffened. “I've a horrible feeling that's what Eric's after.”

“Using Ginger to get to us.” Jan frowned. “Likely through blackmail. I really hope we can find them.” He stood. “I'll keep an eye out while I'm running my stall. If you'll be all right, Lacey...”

The Korean girl nodded, lips curling up on one side. “I'll live. Thinking we'd better check for them at the dance...comp...” Her eyes gradually widened, staring into the distance. “The dance comp...”

“Lacey?” Verity prompted; when no response came she waved a hand in front of their face. “Hello? What about the dance comp?”

“That's how!” the Korean girl burst out. “That's how I beat him to it!”

Verity blinked. “Reveal your face at the dance comp?”

Lacey nodded, light coming to her eyes. “I'll make it the climax of my routine! If I'm doing a face reveal, it's gotta be dramatic.”

“Oh, that will be.” Jan gave a laugh. “And make a serious statement to Eric. I'm assuming you won't be wearing that suit again?”

“Course not. Has to be partial.” Lacey thought a moment. “Isn't there a stall selling kigus?”

Jan nodded. “Think I saw a weasel one, too.”

The Korean girl grinned. “Perfect.” Then the grin turned lopsided. “If I can afford it, of course.” Her jaw fell, she snatched up and stared at her bikini top, then the grin brightened. “Oh! Even better! Verry, can you remember the comp's rules for dress?”

The dark-skinned girl nodded, if a little warily. “If you're thinking what I _think_ you're thinking, I think it's allowed, but I _don't_ think...”

“Great!” Lacey clapped her hands. “Sabby! Up for joining in?”

“Of course!” The dobermann was eager. “How?”

“A little walking, a little posing.” The Korean girl's expression became coy. “A little emotional support.”

Sabine chuckled, nosing her cheek. “Maybe I should get a kigu, too.”

“Wanna go see what they have?” Lacey stood.

Verity caught her wrist. “Hold on, Lace. You're _sure_ about this?”

“I'm sure,” the Korean girl replied. “Scared, but sure. And before you ask, I'll check with Caper, and only go bikini or cue Sabby if allowed.”

Verity released them. “All right.” Then stood herself, and drew them into a hug. “Just looking after my baby sister.”

“Less of the baby!” Lacey pouted playfully, flicking their nose, but still returned the squeeze. “And more of the sister.” She pulled back, hands on their waist. “You chosen _your_ routine, yet?”

“Actually, yes.” There was a conspiratorial twinkle in Verity's eyes.

Lacey grinned. “Guess I'm not the only one taking risks, huh?” Kissing the dark-skinned girl again, she slipped away, tugged on her shirt and dungarees, tucked her wallet into the front pocket, donned her weasel head once more, then grabbed Sabine's hand. “Let's go!”

While Verity chose to stay with Hazel and Lily to relax a while, Cinna, Leslie and Jan all joined the weasel and the dobermann in returning to the con spaces. Leslie split off at the role-playing panel, saddened to see no trace of Ginger, and the rest entered the dealer's den. Jan and Cin settled at the former's stall, where a customer was waiting, leaving Lacey and Sabine to seek out the kigu seller.

They found it two along from Eric's silent table, a sign advertising his room party the only thing currently occupying it. The weasel was quite elated to discover she could afford the kigu she wanted, though it took most of her budget, while the dobermann, after a lot of consideration, bought a rat one, explaining she and Abigail had a fondness for them.

They were both wearing them, Lacey also sporting her suit paws and feet, when the group, now minus Jan but plus Hazel, entered the main stage a while later. The weasel-girl and the kobold, the latter wearing a fairly tight-fitting long-sleeved shirt and leggings, both in rich shades of purple, took seats at the back of the room with four others, and the cat, rabbit, dog and Leslie sat together near the left front corner.

The crowd quickly built to capacity, a strong buzz of anticipation along with it. It swelled further when a dapper green fox in a waistcoat and bow tie appeared, simmered as he took some time to talk with all the contestants, conversing longest with Lacey, then boiled over when he stepped to the middle of the floor, microphone in paw.

Caper, his voice rich and bright, introduced himself, the competition, the three judges at a table alongside the dancers – a regal mongoose, a grey feline, and a sleek white with blue details amphibian – and lastly, the first participant. When the noise finally died down, and the music cued, they began to dance.

It was lively, if untidy, with a lot of fist-pumping, stomping strides and jumps, and a fair part of the crowd cheered them on throughout. The next contestant, a trim wolf whose midnight blue fur sparkled with a myriad tiny stars, a larger one over their right eye, got a loud reaction just for standing up, then the room fell silent when the song began.

Their dance was slow, smooth, graceful, with echoes of ballet, and in near-perfect sync with the music, telling a definite story. Sheavah and Lacey shared a glance, a silent, mutual acknowledgement of what they were up against, then when the performance drew to a close cheered and applauded as loudly as everyone else. The judges were enthused and complimentary, and the wolf's shy delight and pride deepened at the further praise they got from the weasel and the kobold when they returned to their seat.

“Up next,” Caper announced, “and coming back for her third year in a row, a weasel who never fails to bring the drama, and a certain anxiety to everyone in the front rows, it's _Laceyyyyy_!”

The mustelid-girl sprang up and bounced forward, batting playfully at Caper as she passed him, to a pretty lively reaction. The loudest noise came from Cinna, Leslie, Hazel and especially Sabine and Sheavah, the dobermann cupping their hands around their muzzle. She stood with her head down, legs spread and arms held loosely out, drawing even breaths, until the noise faded and the music kicked in.

At first it was low, tense, almost throbbing, with flashes of more, and her dance matched it, small, rapid steps and movements with hints of larger ones. Then a short run of sharp, powerful beats hit, and in time with them Lacey unzipped, pulled down, stepped out of and threw her kigu behind her for Sheavah to catch, all without taking off her paws or feet, revealing her bikini-clad body, and the crowd gasped.

The music surged, a near-ferocious rush of energy driven by drums of an almost tribal kind, and the weasel's dancing erupted with it. Lacey became a whirling, bouncing blur of movement, full of dramatic poses and showy moves. She slipped and stumbled several times, and twice lost her footing completely, but twisted and rolled and made it all part of the increasingly wild, erratic dance.

It climaxed with a fairly spectacular tumble across the floor to Sabine, then the weasel rose as the music reduced to just the heavy beats, and took steps backwards in rhythm, beckoning them. The dobermann, in one silken movement, rose and sloughed her kigu, which rippled down to uncover her bikini-clad form, the audience gasping even louder.

Pacing to the beats, the dog followed the weasel-girl to the centre of the floor, where they circled round, then Lacey spun, leant back against them, their hands resting on her hip and shoulder, and moved her own towards her head. She gripped it, raised it just a bit, held it as the last few beats played out and an excited, eager clamour built in the crowd, then on the very last one lifted it off completely.

She cradled it to her chest, eyes closed, the pounding of her heart just audible under a roar so loud it verged on white noise. When it started to recede she opened them, and when all she saw was excited, happy faces, none more so than those of her friends, she gave a wide, faintly watery smile. Sabine nuzzled her cheek, which she turned into a warm press of lips, and that drew a whooping cheer.

They separated, the dobermann bowed to the crowd and returned to their seat, putting their kigu back on, then the weasel beamed through the judges comments. She embraced Caper, redressed in her kigu, and sat back down, Sheavah engulfing her in a gleeful hug.

“That was _fantastic_!” the kobold gushed. “Did you _see_ the reaction?!”

“Yep,” Lacey chuckled, a little dazedly. “And heard. Kinda surreal. No turning back now, huh?”

“I'm so proud of you.” Sheavah squeezed her. “My brave sister.”

Smile growing watery again, the Korean girl raised the kobold's head just enough to brush a discreet kiss on the lips of the dark-skinned girl beneath. “Easy to be brave with a family like mine.” Then she replaced her own head, and settled in to watch the next contestant.

A jackal in hip huggers and loose sports shirt, they put a solid hip-hop routine to a mixtape, the highlight some quite clean body-popping. A horse followed, clopping their way through a cheerful if ungainly cycle of a dance, then Caper stepped forward.

“All right, folks: time for the last dancer! Yes, it's sad this competition is almost over, as it's been a fun one, but this lovely lizard is aiming to send us out on a serious high. It's _Sheavaaaaah_!”

Lacey pressed foreheads with the kobold. “Knock 'em dead, sis.”

Sheavah paced evenly onto the floor, and settled into position. When the song began, a vibrant easy listening number, the audience laughed and cheered in delight, and started clapping along. This gave Sheavah all the encouragement she needed, and she surged into an ebulliently larger-than-life dance.

It was fast, it was fluid, it was endlessly playful, it tied in superbly with the song, and the crowd lapped it up. Come the chorus, the audience singing every word and stamping and clapping extra-loudly at the right moments, she found yet more exuberance with big leaping twirls, and tail-swishing hip swings timed perfectly to the double beats.

The energy was so high as the end neared, and she was so swept up by it, Sheavah threw caution to the wind and went for an acrobatic last move, a handspring, and when she landed it, on the final note, and the cheers deafened, she punched the air in delight. The crowd carried on singing and stamping until Caper finally reined them in.

“Wow, wow, _wow_!” he laughed. “ _What_ a competition we've had! A huge round of applause for all our dancers!”

After the ovation and glowing comments from the judges, the kobold sat back down, to have the breath hugged out of her by Lacey.

“You _smashed_ it!” the weasel whooped. “Winner for sure!”

Sheavah chuckled. “Let's not get carried away, Lace. Starrybright was just as good, if not better.”

The wolf leaned in. “I'll just say I _really_ don't envy the judges.”

All the dancers were called onto the floor to gyrate to a pulsing house track while the panel deliberated. It took some time, but finally Caper brought the room to attention.

“Our fine judges have made their decision, and boy furry was it ever a hard one. Some fantastic performances tonight! Get the drums rolling and...” Paws and feet rapidly thrummed on the floor. “In first place, the winner of the dance competition, and taking home a shiny glowy visor thingy to prove it...” He let the tension hang for an agonising age. “It's _Sheavaaaaaaaaaaaah_!”

The kobold fell on her back, paws to her muzzle, and was immediately buried under all the other dancers, smothered by their congratulatory hugs. Lacey was right in the thick of it, deliriously happy.

“ _Knew it_!” she hollered. “ _Knew you could do it_!”

When they let Sheavah up, Caper and the judges congratulated her as well, then she was handed the visor, a luminous, wrap-around one she set on her face.

“That's it for this year, folks!” Caper announced. “Well done Sheavah, thank you all our contestants, thank _you_ for being a brilliant audience, if you're still in a dancing mood wait ten minutes and a DJ will be here spinning all the grooves you could want, and _good night_!”

As the crowd flowed out, Sheavah found herself swamped by Sabine, Cinna, Hazel and Leslie, then hoisted onto the dobermann's shoulders to be paraded round the room and out into the corridor. They went to the lounge for some celebratory drinks, returned to the main stage to lose themselves in lush trance rhythms for half an hour, and went back to their room to catch their breath and check in with Jan and Lily.

No-one had visited, and there'd been no more activity on Eric's social media, which further boosted their mood. So did Jan's reveal that he'd finished his cyberpunk piece and was starting a fantasy-themed group piece that would feature everyone. The only blemish on the night was Ginger's continued absence.

The girls soon headed to Lacey's single room. The weasel took off her kigu then busied herself setting her laptop, microphone and camera up on the desk, the latter covering the small sofa, the bed and the space between them. Sabine, having removed her kigu, stood close by, while the others clustered between the bed and the door, changing into their bikinis. Verity was relaxed, Hazel was self-conscious but smiling, Leslie was anxious but determined, and Cin was a little distracted.

“Is there _really_ no way to contact Ginger?” she eventually asked.

“They don't do social media, they don't have a phone, and they didn't give us their room number,” Verity listed, “so no.” She ruffled the cat's ear. “I'm sure we'll find them sooner or later, and the chances are good they're hiding from Eric, too. Even if he does get our room number he can't get _in_ , especially with Jan there. Take a few breaths and focus on having a nice, fun, relaxing night. Okay?”

Cinna exhaled, and nodded. “Okay.”

“Besides,” Lacey chimed in, “he'll be busy til the bleary hours with the empty, alcoholic, highly-uncomfortable-if-you-happen-to-have-breasts buffet of awkwardness he calls a room party.”

“You sound like you're speaking from experience,” Hazel observed.

“I looked in on one, once,” Lacey confirmed. “Noped right back out.”

“This con's far stricter on room parties than his old one,” Verity noted, her neutral tone belied by the gleam in her eyes, “and he _has_ just lost his Big Reveal, so I fear more people might nope out this time.”

“Such a _shame_ ,” Lacey drawled, smirking. She clapped her hands. “All techy stuff should be go for ours! What about you glamour girls?”

The others cheered affirmation.

“Then let's start the countdown!” She hit a button; the main window of her streaming software shifted to her cartoon weasel logo on a blue background with large digits ticking beneath it, and a light, easy-going acoustic guitar piece started playing. “Live in five!”

Everyone clustered round, watching the chat on the side of the screen come to life, a rapid flow of excited, energetic people checking in, and gushing over the dance competition and what was going to happen in the stream. As the timer ticked below two minutes, the weasel herded the others out of frame, and clicked another button.

“Can you hear me?” she asked into the microphone. The chat replied gleefully in the affirmative, and she bounced to the armchair. “Can you _still_ hear me?” The chat confirmed they could, and she bounded to the bed. “What about now?” A third positive response. “Perfect!” She took the chair at the desk again. “Some rules and warnings for ya!

“No swearing in chat; abusive or discriminatory comments will earn a permanent ban, and crude or disrespectful ones a temporary ban; this stream will contain furries, scalies, humies, silly games, beverages of a non-alcoholic nature, questionable snacks, sweet bikinis, casual nudity, casual intimacy, aaaaaaaaaaand...”

Lacey let the silence linger as the last seconds ticked away, then with a flourish hit another button, bringing the camera online, and flung her arms wide. “My ugly, boring human face! Welcome to the partyyyy!”

“If you're ugly, I'm a dragon!” Verity called over.

Lacey laughed, while also blushing at the chat's response. “You're too much, guys! Lemme introduce my guests, then we'll all catch up.” She jumped back to sit on the edge of the bed. “First up, the winner of the dance competition, and the best sister-in-all-but-blood a girl could ask for, Sheavaaah!”

The dark-skinned girl, clad in the top she'd used at the pool, and new brief bottoms to match, twirled into frame. She waved at the camera, gave the Korean girl a quick hug and kiss, then sat in the armchair.

“Yeah, she got moves, all right!” Lacey grinned to the chat. “Up next, another old friend, but as you've _never_ seen her before, the beautiful, bashful blue mouse herself, Lapiiiiiis!”

Leslie, wearing a simple, modest white bikini, stepped shyly into view, hands clasped on her belly. She knelt before Lacey, who wrapped their arms around her waist, and kissed her cheek.

“Too hecking right she's lovely!” the latter agreed with the chat. “You ought to have seen Jan's reaction! He couldn't speak!”

Lapis blushed, and responded to the chat's questions. “Yes, Jan and I are a couple now, and yes” – she patted one of her breasts – “these are real. My transition's going well, so far. And I was doubtful about going nude later, but increasingly less so now.”

“Only if you're comfortable,” Lacey assured them, before they moved to sit on Verity's lap. “Our third guest, a purrfectly lovely AnthroPet cat who isn't about to claw me to ribbons for that pun, Cinnamon!”

Cin padded up, playfully flexed her claws at the Korean girl, then gave a slow spin to show off the sleek, rich russet bikini that complimented her figure nicely. She giggled at the chat's response. “You flatter me.”

Lacey ushered them on. “Fourth guest! She's cute, she's shy, she's the bonniest bunny you'll ever meet, it's Hazel!”

There was a distinct pause before the rabbit joined her, and their ears were glowing. They wore a powder blue, halter top bikini that shaded darker in the middle at front and back, and blushed even harder when the chat filled with hearts and called her adorable. She quickly moved to Cinna, who'd perched on the arm of the chair, and nestled into their embrace, sharing a nuzzle.

“Last, but _definitely_ not least,” Lacey continued, “a ravishing dobegirl who can make anything look amazing, and who I can't believe I can call my _girlfriend_...” She paused to savour the whoops in the chat. “It's the one and only Sabiiiiiine!”

The dog slid in, sitting beside the Korean girl and nuzzle-kissing her on the lips. “Pretty sure you're exaggerating.”

“The chat doesn't think so!” Lacey leant against them, head pillowed on their chest, smile beatific. “Just accept you're hecking gorgeous.”

“When _you_ accept your face isn't ugly or boring,” Sabine countered.

The Korean girl laughed. “Gonna be a long night, folks!”

The first twenty or so minutes actually went by pretty quickly, Lacey's deft handling of the chat leading to lively, engaging conversation that eased a lot of nerves. The box of sweets that was passed around, each one potentially nice or nasty, also helped greatly, not least since Cinna kept getting horrible flavours, and pulled ever more grossed-out faces, until she finally got a pleasant one and sagged with relief.

Verity kept her phone close throughout, so she could stay up-to-date with Jan's stream and Eric's social media. When a new post appeared on the latter, her shout of surprise startled everyone to silence. “Eric's cancelled his room party!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

“ _What_?” Everyone else chorused, visibly disbelieving.

She showed them all her phone. “It's real. Doesn't say why, though.”

“Anyone have any idea?” Lacey asked the chat. One possibility pretty quickly gained traction, but the Korean girl was unconvinced. “Banned from the con? Would even he be that dumb?”

“Turns out: yes.” Verity angled her phone to the group again, a video opened on it. “Someone posted this ten minutes ago.” Clearly shot on a phone, the short and shaky clip showed Eric violently accosting a slim brunette in the lounge, before being stopped by con staff, then forcibly ejected from the room.

“That's Ginger!” Hazel gasped.

Verity nodded. “Guess they said no. Maybe now they'll ta...” She was interrupted by her ringtone; she answered quickly. “Jan, please tell me Ginger's with you.” A curt, rapid-fire exchange later, she ended the call, and sagged with relief. “They're with Jan. Safe.”

The room seemed to lift such were the sighs let out.

“And did they...?” Cin prompted.

“No, which is what set Eric off. They'll explain more later.”

“All right.” The cat sagged against Leslie, whose lap she sat in. “I know it's not over, but it's _so good_ to at least breathe a little easier.”

“Definitely,” Lacey concurred, then turned to the chat. “Please respect this is personal, and so we can't tell you much. What we can tell you is that Eric was out to cause us problems, and was trying to use Ginger to do that. Thankfully, he's failed.”

“And is taking it with his usual grace,” Verity added, drily.

“So,” Lacey proposed, “now we _can_ breathe easier, how about we get even more comfortable?”

The response was a mass removal of bikinis, even Hazel and Leslie, as much as they blushed, disrobing. The latter was surprised at the chat's positive reaction to their nude form, and heartened by it, and even sat next to Lacey on the bed to engage with it better.

“Yes, you could describe me as intersex, right now,” she confirmed, in response to a polite query. “I _am_ in-between, physically, and I'm more comfortable with it than I was expecting, which is handy since it'll be a _long_ time before this” – she tapped her fairly petite penis – “becomes one of these.” She brushed Lacey's shaven vulva.

Lacey chuckled, a little wryly. “Funny thing: I wasn't born with exactly the lips you see now.”

Leslie's eyes grew. “You mean _you_ were intersex...?”

“Ambiguous genitalia,” the Korean girl pronounced. “As in, my clitoris was oversized and my inner labia were partially fused. I could still do all I needed to, but to my parents and the doctor I was an aberration in need of correcting, so I was given surgery to make me fully female, as that's what I looked most like.”

“And you believe,” Hazel asked, hesitantly, “that's why they treat you so poorly? Won't accept you?”

“No, I _know_ that's why, cause they never miss a chance to remind me of it. I wasn't born 'right', I've never done anything right, and I'll never do anything right. Once an aberration, always an aberration.”

“Your parents are idiots,” Sabine stated, bluntly.

Lacey snickered. “That's one way of putting it! I sometimes wonder what would've happened if I hadn't had the surgery, and been allowed to decide myself when I was old enough, but that's academic, now, not least since I _am_ a girl, in sex and gender. _Anywaay..._ ” She clapped her hands and looked round, grinning. “Who's up for truth or dare?”

The group threw themselves into the game, mostly vying to see who could come up with the silliest dares. This started with Lacey trying to balance her fursuit head on her own head, moved through Hazel trying to juggle balled-up socks, a blindfolded Leslie fumbling to stack Lacey's three plushies, and Sabine doing a rather good impression of Marlene Dietrich, and culminated with Verity and Cinna acting out a kaiju battle with such gusto they ended up tumbling over the bed.

In amongst all this, Lacey professed her love of Godzilla movies, Leslie admitted to a fascination with micro/macro dynamics, Hazel revealed a taste for shortbread, and Sabine confessed to being more than a little claustrophobic. Verity's disclosure of her most embarrassing moment, however, was interrupted by a loud chime from Lacey's laptop.

“One second, folks!” she told the chat, throwing up a 'BE RIGHT BACK' screen. “Stoopid woozle here clearly forgot to close her mail software before startin' the stream. Guess I'm lucky I've not had any unti...” She trailed off as she saw the short, stark message she'd received from her parents: 'Be gone before we get home'.

Lacey switched off the microphone, sank back onto the bed, and was instantly engulfed by the others, Sabine and Verity at the forefront.

“How cold do you have to be to disown your daughter by _email_?” the dark-skinned girl wondered. “When are they home?”

“Early Monday morning,” Lacey answered, dully. “Which is why I _was_ going to be travelling back tomorrow night. Think you could find room in one of your cars for a freshly homeless weasel?”

Verity kissed her scalp. “Of course.”

“And if someone could magically transport my stuff from my room to Sabby's place before my family trash it all, I'd be much obliged.”

Her mail software chimed again.

She looked at the new message, and blinked. “Seriously? What even are the chances?”

“Your uncle, right?” Cin guessed, to a nod from the Korean girl. “Then maybe they sent him a message when they sent you one?”

“They did.” Lacey had opened the email. She gave a small laugh. “He hadn't given up; my parents had just...gotten better at keeping him at bay. Now I'm disowned, though, I guess they let him know so he'd not be an issue any more, either. He says...” She laughed louder. “He says he's proud of me, and he'll do whatever he can to help.”

“Wonderful!” Sabine leaned over to nuzzle-lick her cheek.

“He musta gotten my address the same way my parents did: from my channel bio.” A smile threatening, she rattled off a reply. “Just told him the code to the spare key box, and asked him to get my stuff and if you could give me your address, Sabby, I'll ask him to take it there. May as well ask if he can look after my studio stuff, too.”

“We have a spare room,” Sabine told her. “And it should be able to fit your studio in as well as a bed.”

Lacey stared at them, wiping moisture from her eyes. “Thanks.” She brought the stream back online. “Hey, folks! Sorry that took so long. It turned out to be a pretty important mail.” She moved back to the arms of the others, laid a firm kiss on the side of Sabine's muzzle then took a breath. “My parents just found out I'm a furry.”

Alarm surged through the chat.

“Easy, guys! Yeah, it's bad, 'cos they've disowned me, and kicked me out, but it coulda been much worse without my safety net, here.” She smiled softly at the group. “I've a chance to make my own life, and you better bet I'm grabbing it with both paws. It just might...take a while.”

Lacey answered a few questions from the chat, then Leslie spoke up.

“How did your parents not know?” she asked. “About your furry side and your channel, I mean?”

“With me living at home?” Lacey flashed a smirk. “Because I didn't do it at home. I had a private place, and they never knew about it 'cause, well, they'd scold me for being gone for hours, but didn't care enough to actually ask where I went. My sister did try to follow me, once, but I led her such a dance through the town she never tried it again.

“And yes, I'll tell _you_ where it was. It's strange, actually. There was a little second-hand bookshop down a short lane in town that I'd visit to buy vintage maps.” Her cheeks tinged red. “I actually really like them, and have a collection. It was a converted house, the shop downstairs, a flat upstairs, and owned by a real old character called Mr Gimby, who for the longest time was the closest thing I had to a friend.

“One day, when I opened a map I'd bought, I found a key in it, tucked in the folds. It was too late to take it back, so I went the next day...and the shop was closed. Dark and silent. I knocked with no answer, then tried the key, and it worked. I went in, called, and looked around, but Mr Gimby wasn't there. The flat was bare, but the books had been left behind. I couldn't understand it. Still don't.

“After a month with no sign of any life, and needing somewhere quiet and private to work on my crazy channel idea, and guessing Mr Gimby must have had a reason for giving me a key, I started setting up in the flat. I built up quite a nice little studio and a small but loyal following, and I have Mr Gimby to thank for it. Just wish I could tell him.”

“Gimby. I know the name, but...” Hazel was frowning, eyes shifting as she thought hard. “I'll have to ask Tim.”

“Please, please do!” Lacey all but begged.

The rabbit laughed. “And I'll make sure to report back.”

“Thankee!” Lacey kissed her nose. “Now, we _could_ play a few rounds of a mildly tasteless card game I brought, _or_ , we could all agree we've had a pretty emotional evening, and instead just sink into a great, big, lazy cuddle pile and talk about whatever the heck we and the chat feel like for as long as we feel like.”

The group's response was immediate and unequivocal; they bundled her fully onto the bed, and snuggled together in such a way that they all had at least one arm curled around them, and a warm body part to rest their head on. The Korean girl's chin was cradled by the crook of Verity's hip, from where she could comfortably see the chat.

Conversation drifted easily from one subject to another, from movies to books to furry music to favourite fursuits to Verity finishing the tale of her most embarrassing mishap to the others sharing theirs to telling their dreams to Lacey's tattoo to Sabine's more prominent pregnancy, until they were so relaxed the dobermann and Leslie in particular were almost drifting off.

Then a question came from the chat for Cinna that shifted the mood, and not in a good way.

“Grooming?” She nodded. “Yes, I groom. All AnthroPets do. Part and parcel of having fur. We use brushes, hands and, yes, tongues.” Faint hints of a frown started to surface. “I regularly groom with my owner, and I'd happily do so with anyone here, but I can't speak for them, and this is close to crossing a personal line.” The frown widened. “And now you've crossed it. _No_ , I won't demonstrate tongue-grooming for you.”

“Who'd be crass enough to even ask that?” Verity bristled.

“You don't think,” Leslie wondered, faintly, the tremble growing in her body felt by everyone, “it's Eric?”

The huddle tightened protectively around her and Cinna.

“It's not,” Lacey responded. “He'll want to get back at us, all right, but not like that. This is someone I _thought_ I knew, but turns out, I didn't at all.” She sighed, then addressed the commenter directly. “I'm gonna give you a temp ban, and _hope_ you weren't playing a long game, that it was just a lapse in judgement.

“I think we'd better call it a night; it's late and we're tired. Thanks for tuning in, for being a fabulous chat, one idiot aside, and see you again soon.” She waved, grinning, as did the rest, then reached a hand out to hit a button, and end the broadcast. “Sorry 'bout that, Cin. Sadly, you'll get people like that from time to time.”

“Jan got one, once,” Leslie supplied. “For months they were great, but then, out of the blue, and in spite of _knowing_ the answer would be no, they casually asked Jan to draw one of his characters 'sexing with' their fursona. Maybe they thought they'd earned an exemption, but all they actually got was a cold shoulder. Maybe not the best response, but...”

Cinna patted their flank and Lacey's rear. “It's okay. And I meant what I said: I'd happily groom with any one of you.” She chuckled. “Or all of you. Although, not sure if my rough tongue would agree with skin...”

“I'm happy to find out,” Verity replied. “And a group grooming sounds wonderful, though probably another time.” She yawned. “Keeping my eyes open is getting harder.”

“Personally,” Hazel spoke up, “I'd only be comfortable grooming with Cin, right now.” She giggled. “After last night, I'd be comfortable doing almost anything with her.”

Cinna beamed, and kissed her nose. “Fair enough. It was just an idea, after all.”

Lacey shifted slightly. “Gotta be honest, not sure I'm _entirely_ up for a group grooming. Probably being daft, but you're all into sex, and well, despite my silliness with you, Sab, I'm pretty certain I'm not, so if, and I know this is _really_ unlikely but _if_ things went that way...well...”

“They wouldn't,” Cin stated, simply.

Verity squeezed the Korean girl's shoulder. “If you ever want to try it, even just to be _completely_ sure you're not into it, and I know this isn't a very 'sisterly' thing to say, I'm happy to help.”

Lacey chuckled, then gave the dark-skinned girl an affectionate kiss. “I _really_ doubt I ever will, but on the billion-to-one chance I do...you'd be my only choice.” She let loose a long, soft sigh. “If you all wanna sleep here tonight, by the way, feel free. Heck, I'd love the company.”

Looks were exchanged, then Verity responded. “All right. We'd better check in with Jan, Lily and Ginger before we turn in, though.” She laid her phone in the middle of their pile, which happened to be between Leslie's breasts, dialled Jan's number, and set it on speaker.

“Good to hear from you,” he greeted them, voice low, “but please be quiet, or you'll wake Lily.”

Warmth filled Cinna's face. “She's sleeping with you?”

“Sound in my arms. You're all sleeping with Lacey, I guess?”

“Yes,” Verity confirmed. “Is Ginger still with you?”

“Yes,” they themselves confirmed. “Borrowing the bags. I'm sorry if I've caused you any stress, but...”

“Eric,” Verity finished for them. “Some, but forgotten. You came good in the end.”

“Only just,” Ginger admitted. “He almost had me. I was actually going into the lounge to tell him your room number, but then I saw someone watching Verity and Lacey's performances at the dance comp on their phone, and I...I couldn't do it. The guilt would've killed me. True, _Eric_ almost killed me, but...look where it got him.”

“Booted from the con.” Cinna couldn't help the satisfaction colouring her voice. “If not, I'm guessing, the hotel.”

“Well,” Jan reported, “he posted to his social media that he's packing up and leaving, but I really don't think we've seen the last of him.”

“As steamed as he's gotta be?” Lacey chuckled darkly. “He'll be out for blood. Literally.”

“So we up the vigilance,” Verity reinforced, “and we look out for each other all the more. You in, Ginger?”

“Kind of have to be,” they softly laughed, “now I know about the pink sweetheart who may actually be cuter than me in suit.”

“Speaking of suits,” Leslie ventured, “I happen to know someone else who owns a murrsuit, is interested in trying it out, and I trust. If you're interested, I could let them know.”

“In time, yes,” Ginger answered. “I've not actually used mine properly, yet. The one time I tried...it turned out to be a nasty little prank, by a nasty little person who just so happened to know Eric.”

“Eric really has a horrible knack for popping up in the worst places at the worst times.” Verity drawled.

“So,” Ginger continued, “I do want to try again, and hopefully have a much more positive experience, but only when I'm ready. And, thanks for having my back.”

“Any time,” Hazel told her, with a smile. “It's...kind of our thing.”

“Maybe,” Cinna suggested, “part of the reason Eric hates us so much is, well...he's jealous.”

“You know,” Verity mused, “that's not out of the question.” A lengthy yawn rose from her. “How about we all settle down for a lovely night's sleep in the best of company, and tomorrow enjoy the parade, and the variety show, and whatever else we have planned, and even dance the night away, all while leaving Eric to stew in his own juices?”

The agreement was drowsily unanimous, and though the sleep wasn't entirely peaceful, it was still deeper and more restful than most of the group had enjoyed in quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr Gimby is named for the owner of a real bookshop I visited a lot as a child, and undoubtedly did a lot to foster my love of storytelling.


	15. Conventional Wisdom - Day 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day of the convention, and it all comes down to Eric, Cinnamon, Lacey, and one remarkably brave young vixen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: strong language, a moment of violence, some blood, and sexual threat toward a minor. Reader discretion advised.

Cinnamon woke to the sound of melodic humming, and the sensation of soft, curling hair tickling her cheek and nose. Opening her eyes, she discovered her face was half-buried in Verity's generous pubic ruff, and the singing was coming from Sabine, who was caressing their stomach with both hands, their ears perked toward it, their gaze tender.

The dark-skinned girl was awake, staring into space with a thoughtful look on her face, while the others were still asleep, so the cat decided to stay put and lull in the tranquillity a while. A purr soon welled from her, drawing Verity's attention; a hand gently tousled the fur between contentedly half-perked ears.

“One day,” the latter remarked, nudging their head toward Sabine, “in the not too distant future, that'll be me.”

“You want a child?” Cinna's smile widened. “A partner, too?”

Verity chuckled softly. “Probably not, no. I'm ninety-percent sure I'm aromantic, meaning I don't feel the kind of romantic attraction you do for Hazel and Ian, or Leslie does for Jan, and I don't know how well a relationship would work without it.”

“Who ever said a relationship had to be romantic?” Cin reasoned. “As long as it works for you, and for them, and for the child, then surely it's a good one?”

“True,” Verity conceded, “but there's another aspect. I don't feel like I need a 'special' companion because I already have all of you. I mean, I trust you fully, and I'd not hesitate to...” She frowned. “You know, there seriously needs to be a word or phrase in between 'have sex with' and 'make love with'.”

“Sexually intimate,” Cinna suggested, half-seriously. “And from that I presume you're also pansexual, if I'm remembering the term right.”

Verity nodded. “I find all of you sexually attractive.” This got a look of slightly blushing surprise from Leslie, who was now awake and taking a lot of interest in the conversation; she grinned at them. “You were very helpful in figuring my preferences out, actually. You and Ginger.”

The other girl blushed a little brighter. “I'm really flattered, but...”

“You're purely Janromantic and Jansexual,” Cin supplied, cheerfully.

Leslie laughed. “Demi, technically, but yes. And heteroromantic. Are you still trying to work yourself out?”

“Yeah,” the cat confirmed. “I'm starting to lean toward biromantic and bisexual, but I'm a long way from sure. I _am_ sure, though, that the only people I'd be sexually intimate with are Hazel and Ian.” She gave Verity a playfully regretful smile. “Sorry to disappoint, Verry.”

The dark-skinned girl chuckled. “I think I'll cope. What about entirely non-sexual kisses and cuddles?”

Cinna's response was to shift up their body and close her muzzle over their mouth. They started, laughed into the kiss, then responded with a skill that stunned the cat in turn. They soon parted, and Cin gazed at Verity in something akin to awe. “Wow, you're _good_...”

The latter grinned. “Just a natural gift.”

A plush hand pawed at Cin's flank. “Can I have one too?” Hazel asked, eyes wide and pleading.

“Of course!” Verity leaned closer to them, puckering her lips.

Hazel leaned back, giggling. “I meant from Cin! I like girls, but there's only one girl I'd kiss like that.” She sagged slightly in relief when Verity stilled, then pressed her lips to theirs in a brief, but warm kiss. “But like that is fine with everyone. I've come way further than I ever would've believed this weekend, but I still have my limits.”

Verity returned the kiss. “Of course.” She rolled away, letting Cin take her place, the cat sinking into a deep embrace and blending of muzzles with the rabbit that didn't look likely to end any time soon. She turned her attention to Sabine, who'd ceased singing, and was now looking on with a bright smile. “You look positively radiant.”

Sabine blushed and giggled. “I'm just so happy. All the soreness and tiredness and nausea and running to the loo is finally done...and now I can _hear_ them, and I'm sure they can hear me, and it all feels so much more real – this is my _child_ – so why not sing to them? Let them hear how much I love them?” Her ears dipped just a little. “Especially since I _have_ neglected them just a little the last two days.”

Verity shook her head firmly. “Nothing wrong in taking a little time for yourself when you can, and it's not like you've gone crazy.” She shifted a little closer. “If it's not inappropriate to ask, what was the worst bit?”

“My nipples,” Sabine answered, with no hesitation. “At one point they were so sensitive a shirt could feel like sandpaper. None of it was fun, but for me that was the hardest thing to deal with.” Her ears tinged red and a little coyness filtered into her smile. “Not least since I do enjoy a breast massage. Great stress relief.”

“Tell me about it!” Cin chimed in, almost literally popping up. “Never fails to melt the tension away.”

“The more you talk about it like that,” Lacey threw in, sitting up with a wistful expression, “the more I wanna experience it.”

Sabine beckoned. “I'll give you one right now. We've time.”

“Talk about an offer ya can't refuse!” the Korean girl laughed, shifting over and lying against the dobermann. “Can I get a kiss with it?”

“Of course.” Sabine expertly covered their mouth with her muzzle, in a warm, languid meshing that left them smiling wider, then one of her fingers started gently stroking spirals out from the nipple of their right breast. “So, since we're all sharing, I'm purely into girls, will only share sexual intimacy with Abby, and full kisses with her and Lace.”

The Korean girl sighed contentedly, then lilted her head in thought. “I know a few things about myself, like I've said before, but I'm still trying to figure out my romantic leanings. I mean, I know I like girls, but, just girls? Or boys, too? Or anyone?” She chuckled. “Or maybe I shouldn't worry about labels and just be me. Oh, and I'll kiss any one of you.”

Verity took that as an excuse to lean over them and catch their mouth with hers; they didn't hesitate to respond. The kiss was fluid and rich and didn't last very long, and barely was it over than Cinna was taking the dark-skinned girl's place, for one that was equal parts clumsy and enthusiastic. When the cat pulled away, a mildly breathless Korean girl laughed, eyes sparkling.

“Well,” she considered, “Verry wins on ability, Cin wins on personality, Sabby wins on feeling, and _I_ win on number of great kisses to start the day with. We're one odd group, but heck if I don't love it.”

“Actually, we're tied,” Cinna corrected her, casually.

“Huh? Oh! Hazel.” Lacey smirked. “Well, we can't have that. _Except_ , Jan wouldn't be any use, as he'd just kiss both of us, and Ginger won't kiss anyone, so...”

“Why does it even matter?” Verity wondered.

“A – I'm competitive; B – I like kisses; C – I wanna win _something_ this weekend. Oh, and breast massages are the _best_. You really oughta try it. While you're trying it, maybe give social media a quick check.”

Verity chuckled, and nodded. “If Cin's willing...” In just a few seconds she found herself lying back against the feline, whose hands started to gently knead her breasts. “Ah, that _does_ feel nice. Now...” She grabbed her phone from the bedside table and activated it. “Eric's posted twice since the last one we read. One's a photo, but it's a little weird.”

She showed it around. It was of Eric's fursuit, a backpack over its left shoulder and a large bag in its right hand, walking away from the hotel in street-light-dappled darkness. No-one else could be seen, beyond a vague figure in the background, behind one of the lobby doors.

“I think he's just being melodramatic,” Verity concluded.

“How do we know for sure it's him in the suit?” Hazel wondered.

“And who's the other person?” Sabine questioned. “This _is_ weird.”

“Well, the second post was made seventy minutes ago, and reads 'At Moorend. Connection late. Just want to get home', and the details are right for his phone, so I'd say the odds are pretty good.”

Lacey nodded. “Moorend Junction's where you'd change trains to get to Hillerton from here. It's the route I'd have been taking home.”

Verity looked satisfied. “I think he's really gone.”

Leslie remained doubtful. “Can you check the train times?”

“I think so.” Verity searched a moment. “Here we go. A train left here at six, reached Moorend just before six thirty, while a train for Hillerton should have left at six forty, but was ten minutes late. It checks out.”

“And when was the photo posted?” Leslie persisted.

“Two seventeen,” Verity answered.

Cin's brow furrowed. “So, what was he doing for the three plus hours between then and catching his train? Moping round town in fursuit?”

“Good question.” Leslie pursed her lips. “More good ones: why leave the hotel at two a.m. in the first place, and who took the photo?”

Verity shook her head. “He's gone. I mean, he's banned from the con, all the con staff, many of the hotel staff, and a lot of the con-goers will be hostile to him, so there's nowhere he can go and nothing he can do, one of his minions is on thin ice, the other _might_ still be a problem but after all that's happened is more likely to cut their losses and run, _and_ he still doesn't know what room we're in. Even he has to know there's no point staying, so he left, but not without posting a picture to screw with us one last time.” She sighed. “I just...don't want our fears to ruin our last day here when the cause of them is almost certainly gone.”

“I understand.” Cin nosed the dark-skinned girl's cheek, hands stilling on their breasts. “But I value Lily much too much to let my guard down even when the chances are she's safe.”

“Besides,” Leslie warned, quietly, “we're talking about someone who appears to have taken lessons from Charles Augustus Milverton in how to gather information and use it against people. Look at Ginger.”

“But it didn't get him very far, did it?” Verity noted. She reached out a hand to pat Leslie's stomach. “I'm not saying we don't need to be alert, just not as alert as we have been. We can relax a little, have fun, even mess around a bit.”

“I can get with that.” Lacey smirked. “Wouldn't be a furcon without at least _some_ shenanigans. I vote we go to your room, check in with Jan, Lily and Ginger, and make plans.”

The vote was unanimous. The group cheerfully bundled from the bed to get dressed, an impishly smiling Lacey in just her kigu, the latter got her bag ready, then they headed outside. They found the corridors to be pretty quiet, few people out and about, and when they reached the passage the group's room was on, it was completely empty.

Lacey, her smile broadening, took a careful look around, then an even breath, then whipped off her kigu and ran naked along a fair length of corridor to their door, knocking vigorously on it. The others, in various degrees of shock and amusement, hastened to catch up.

“That was invigorating!” the Korean girl giggled, as Jan opened up to let them in. “I just gotta hope there's no cameras in that hall.”

“You really weren't kidding about shenanigans, huh?” Cin chuckled, in amongst a hubbub of hugs and kisses, and warm words for Ginger.

“I take my shenanigans _very_ seriously,” Lacey assured them. “And that was only the beginning.”

“Should I be afraid?” Sabine twiddled her fingers. “I feel like I should be afraid.”

Lacey laughed. “What kinda weasel do ya take me for? I'm not about to go streaking through the dealer's den. Although...” Her mood grew a little wistful. “How cool would a nudist-friendly furcon be? Or even a furmeet?” She shook her head. “Anyway! Plans. Mine are the parade, the variety show, a meeting with Celandine, filming in the lounge, and somehow getting more snogs than Cin.”

It quickly became clear the parade and the show were the only things anyone was interested in, leaving plenty of collective free time. It was decided that some of it would be spent in the lounge, and some of it in the pool, while always ensuring someone stayed in the room. The first to do so would be Cinna.

Jan and Ginger left for the latter's room, while the others took turns to shower in pairs, then all bar the cat and fox-girl changed into fresh clothes, Verity donning her tail, Lacey a headband with weasel ears on it, Sabine promising to promptly deliver some breakfast. Once they'd all left and the door was locked, Cin lay down on one of the beds, and Lily settled on top of her.

Using Verity's phone, the cat called Ian. She caught him up on all that had occurred, then he reassured her that no scientists had visited, and then revealed something that almost had her punching the air.

“Dr Falke's going to talk,” he reported. “Once she's sure she's safe and clear of the rogue scientists, which should be in a couple of days.”

“That's _fantastic_!” Cin cheered, though it soon tempered a little. “We just need to hope they don't make a last ditch attempt to get Lil. She's the physical proof, after all, and Eric's likely told them she's here.”

“I really don't think they will,” Ian assured her. “Why waste effort and time on hunting down Falke and Lily when clearing out and relocating to somewhere with fewer scruples, something they will definitely have mechanisms in place for already, is by far the safest option?”

“True,” Cinna conceded, “but there's still the wild card called Eric.”

Lily pressed just a little closer. “I don't think he's gone. What if it was him in the back of the photo?”

Cin kneaded the crook of the fox-girl's hip, and nosed her ear. “I wish I could say for sure it wasn't, but...”

“It mostly likely isn't, and even if it is, and he tries something, I know you can handle him.” The man's voice warmed. “I've no doubt I'll have you both safely back in my arms tomorrow. I have to go to work, now, so Cin, kiss Lily for me, and Lily, kiss Cin for me. Love you both.”

Cat and fox responded with equal affection, bid Ian farewell, then the former ended the call. She put the phone aside, shared a warm press of muzzles with Lily, then, noticing the faintest trace of disquiet in their manner, set to stroking the back of their head with one hand, and their flank from waist to rear with the other, and waited.

The fox-girl visibly relaxed, head pillowed on one feline breast, a hand resting on the other, the nipple tucked between her fingers, and before long a soft murr welled from her. At one point she looked on the verge of falling asleep, then shifted, looked at Cinna, and quietly spoke up. “I had a weird dream last night...”

“Another nightmare?” the cat asked, gently.

Lily shook her head. “No, just... _weird_. I dreamt I woke up, got out of bed, opened the door and left. I don't know why I did it, I just...did. I walked along the empty corridors, till a nude yellow skunk came out of a room, stopped me, then guided me back here.”

“Yellow skunk?” Cin's nose twitched her confusion. “There's a yellow skunk suiter at the con. That's either a wild coincidence, or...”

Lily's eyes widened. “I was sleep-walking. So, I met the suiter, and my dream made them real?”

“Sounds right. Can you give any more details?”

“Yellow, with white stripes, and a really big tail, and they were sort of clumsy, stumbling around a bit. They were older than me but younger than you, and they had a penis so were probably a boy.”

“Really big tail and clumsy.” Cinna nodded, her ears lilted. “That's the suiter, all right. I guess they heard you, came out to investigate, then, thankfully, brought you safely back. But then, how'd they know _where_ to bring you? Maybe it _was_ just a dream and a wild coincidence. We'll have to ask Sabine to sniff around when she brings breakfast.”

The dobermann arrived five minutes later, carrying a bag of food, and with a giggling, slightly flushed Lacey clutching a goggle-eyed cone for company. They were quickly filled in, then the dog headed outside to check for scents. She returned quickly.

“I can smell Lily out there,” she reported. “It's about six hours old, and leads along a couple of corridors, but no further. There's another scent alongside hers that stops by our door but I don't recognise it at all.”

“Six hours.” Cin's ears flicked. “So about three a.m.”

“It's quite possible Cel'd be up, then,” Lacey noted. “He can be a bit of an insomniac, sometimes. No idea why he'd put his suit on, though.”

“You know them?” Sabine's head tilted, then her eyes grew. “Oh, the Celandine you were going to meet today! That's the yellow skunk?”

“Yeah.” Lacey nodded. “He's a sweetheart. He's thinking of starting a channel, and wanted to pick the scrap of grey mush I call my brain.”

“Have you told him our room number?” Cinna asked.

“No. Maybe he told Lily to go back where she came from, and stayed with her until she was back here?”

“Maybe.” The cat sighed, then gestured to Jan's laptop. “Better check social media for any posts about a naked pink fox-girl sleep-walking in the hotel corridors last night. Also, I have to ask, what in the world are you doing with that cone, Lacey?”

The Korean girl sat at Jan's laptop, the cone on her lap. “Someone left it sitting around, all lonely and forgotten, so I thought I'd look after it a while. I'll put it back, I promise. Eventually.” She flashed a grin, before busying herself searching; after a moment she loosed a relieved little breath. “We're lucky: no reports of naked fox-girls roaming. Someone _did_ report Eric entering a room at two twenty-five, but no-one believes them, largely because they were so drunk they slurred their typing.”

“Eight minutes _after_ the photo,” Sabine calculated. “But yeah, not the best witness, and as Verry said, why stay when he can't do anything?”

Cin's arms clasped Lily. “I wouldn't bet against him finding a way.”

Lacey stood. “We'll update the others, and see if we can't grab Cel for a chat. You enjoy your breakfast, maybe play a round of two of Twister to take your minds off things, and we'll be back before ya know it.”

Cinna blinked, confused. “But we don't have Twister...”

“Check my bag!” Lacey called, as she and Sabine left.

Lily slipped from the cat's arms and padded over to it; underneath the parts of the Korean girl's fursuit and a few pieces of clothing she found the game. She threw a mildly confused look to the cat, who shrugged, then took it to the bed. After a slightly underwhelming breakfast, they laid everything out and started playing.

It took only a few minutes to get the hang of it, and by the end of the first, pretty straightforward game, they were lost in it. The next round proved much trickier, the pair having to twist around each other more and more, until they were a pink and ginger tangle of limbs and bodies that shook with laughter as they struggled in vain not to fall over.

They were well into their fifth game, a furry pair of commas wrapped round each other with their heads tucked under each other's upturned haunches, when Verity and Jan appeared. Both of them laughed at the sight of the cat and the fox, and the latter begged to be allowed to take a picture for reference. Permission was happily given.

While he set to it, Verity caught them up. “Good news: no sign of Eric or his minions, and no gossip about a nude sleep-walking fox-girl. Bad news of a déjà vu kind: also no sign of Celandine. Lace and Sabby have gone to check if he's in his room.”

“Does he have any history with Eric?” Cin asked.

“Not that we know of,” Jan answered, using his phone to take pictures from multiple angles. “But we don't know him as well as Lacey.”

“She'll call us if anything happens,” Verity supplied. “In the meantime, the variety show's about to start. If you want to join Hazel, Ginger and Jan, just say, and I'll take Lily duty.”

“Thanks,” Cinna responded, “but no thanks; I feel like having a quieter day, as much as anything else. Plus I'm three-one down right now, and that _cannot_ be allowed to stand.”

“Fair enough,” Verity chuckled. “But Lace _will_ want that game later, to set up in the lounge. A suiter Twister video's something of a tradition for her, at this p...” She was interrupted by her phone ringing; she took it from her pocket. “Speak of the weasel.” She set it on speaker. “Is he there, Lace?”

“ _Yeah,_ ” the Korean girl replied, “ _but he won't come out, or let us in. I think something's seriously wrong; he sounds rough._ ”

“Keep trying,” Verity all but ordered. “And think about getting help.”

“ _Already am,_ ” Lacey assured her. “ _Cause Sabby's smelt something._ ”

“ _Eric,_ ” the dobermann herself explained. “ _He was here at around two a.m., maybe two thirty._ ”

“Same rough time as the photo,” Verity calculated. “Do you know any reason he might want to hurt Celandine?”

“ _Yeah: Cel had something on Eric he was gonna reveal soon._ ” Lacey's tone was a little tight. “ _Something that would hurt._ ”

“So he decided to hurt them first.” Cin's was heavy.

“Must have been the last thing he did before he left,” Verity rejoined.

“ _We'll go look for a hotel staff member,_ ” Lacey decided. “ _Once we're in and know what's happened, we'll get back to you_.”

“Okay; Jan and I'll be with Ginger and Hazel at the variety show, Cin's staying with Lily. Hoping for the best.”

Ending the call, Verity and Jan made their goodbyes then hurried out, leaving a troubled cat behind. She was jolted from her anxious reverie by a cold, damp nose pressing firmly into her vulva. Yelping, she jolted and fell over, then aimed a look at the giggling fox-girl that managed to be both scolding and grateful.

“I don't know whether to thank you for the distraction,” Cinna coolly remarked, “or paddle that pretty pink posterior for the cheek.”

Eyes guiltily wide, Lily covered her rear. “I'd like the thanks, thanks.”

Cin laughed, and shifted forward to kiss the fox-girl's brow. “Thanks.”

They threw themselves into another round of Twister, determined not to dwell. Most of it was pretty straightforward, but in the space of two moves they found themselves precariously craning around each other, both having to work hard to keep their balance. They lost it in unison, collapsing into a pile of mirth.

It died in a heartbeat, their ears pricking, at the sound of approaching footsteps. Thinking it was the cleaner, they rushed to get Lily safely in the wardrobe, but just as they opened it the room's door clicked.

“Hey, knock first!” Cin shouted, a little desperately. “I'm not d...”

She trailed off, serious confusion setting in, at the sight of the ocelot that stepped inside. It was a full suit with a cheery face and a bag over one shoulder, and once the door was shut it simply stood and stared at the cat and the fox as the latter huddled up, hiding as much of herself as she could behind her tail, and the former held them tight.

“I th-think you've got the wrong room,” Cinna stuttered.

“I beg to differ,” responded a voice that froze the cat's blood and had the fox whimpering. The ocelot lifted off its head, to reveal the smugly smiling face of Eric. “I'm right where I want to be.”

Cin backed up to the beds, panic negating her ability to think. All she could do was watch as Eric calmly, smoothly braced a chair against the door, rested his bag on the desk by Jan's open laptop, and sloughed his fursuit and the close-fitting bodysuit underneath it. Now wearing just a blank red t-shirt and filled-out under-shorts, he leant on the desk.

“A secret second suit comes in so very handy,” he mused, airily.

Cinna finally found her voice. “You were at the games.”

Eric nodded. “Couldn't resist the chance to see dear Lacey making an idiot of herself. Then a golden opportunity was presented, and well...”

“Didn't work out though, did it?”

He frowned faintly. “No. Who knew Ginger had it in them?” Then the smug smile returned. “ _But_ , I still got what I want. I always do.”

“You haven't yet.” Cin unsheathed her claws, and bared her fangs.

Eric sighed, shook his head, and withdrew three things from his bag to set them on the desk: a cudgel, a vial and a syringe. He tapped the vial. “This is Dr Morton's 'psycho-reactive' formula for turning humans into the furries of their dreams; picked it up on a visit yesterday. I was supposed to be discussing how to deliver Lily, but they didn't want her any more as they were distracted packing and running because one of them had turned traitor, so I decided they wouldn't miss a dose or two, took a vial, and left. Turns out, it doesn't work. I checked.”

“Celandine.” Cin's teeth gritted.

“Yes.” Eric's mouth flattened. “I was rather hoping no-one had found out about him, yet.”

“You honestly thought he wouldn't be missed?”

“Yes.” Eric shrugged. “Guess I'll just have to be quick.”

Cin hissed. “You...even... _dare_...”

Eric picked up the syringe, inserted it into the vial, drew the contents into it, and calmly held it up. “You try to stop me, we find out what this does to AnthroPets. Let her go.”

“You really think you're faster than me?”

Eric smirked. “No, but I _am_ stronger, and smarter.”

“Stronger, yes. Smarter, no. Not exactly covered yourself in glory this weekend, have you? Can't have helped your precious popularity.”

Eric's eyes narrowed, and he sneered. “You'd be surprised how much furries can blind themselves to. Besides, I've always had insurance.”

“You mean blackmail.”

“Knowledge is power. Now kindly stop stalling and let...her... _go_.” He pointed the syringe toward the cat.

Cinna still hesitated, but then Lily wormed free, and stepped forward, body shaking, ears flat back, but face determined. “If I...let you h-have me...will you promise not to kill my mum?”

Eric smiled at her. “Pretty and brave. I promise.”

Lily turned to look at Cin, the cat's face harrowed, and gave her a tiny, watery smile. “P-please stay back. I don't want you to d-die.” Then she turned back to the man, took a quavering breath, and stepped closer.

Eric laid the syringe right at the corner of the desk, where Cinna could still see it clearly, his smile widening. He sank to a kneel in an upright position, and opened his arms in welcome. Lily halted just a foot from him, and his hands descended towards her, his smile gaining a gleeful tinge, but just before they made contact with her flanks the fox's knee snapped up into his groin.

As Eric buckled, Cinna flung herself forwards, and Lily lunged for the chair, wrenching it away from the door. Lacey plunged inside, and was on Eric just after he threw Cin away, only for him to snatch the syringe off the table and stab it into her neck. She crumpled, convulsing, as he shoved Lily aside, slammed the door in Sabine's face, and jammed the chair back in place.

Cinna leapt for him again, hitting the cudgel from his hand right after he'd grabbed it. She managed one good swipe of her claws across his face, leaving red lines behind, before his fist crunched into hers, dazing her. Then his knee drove into her gut, buckling her, then his fist hit the side of her head hard enough to send her spinning with a crunch into the wardrobe, fracturing the mirror, then he kicked her in the flank as she slumped on hands and knees wheezing and gagging blood, kicked her again as she lay on the floor, and one last time as she fell still.

Eric spun on his heel, stepped over the equally lifeless form of Lacey, snatched up the cudgel, a short, bulbous-ended wooden one, and, fists clenched, breathing heavy, face contorted, returned to loom over Cin with it brandished high. He paused when Lily called out to him.

She was lying on one of the beds, ears flat, close to hyperventilating, face distraught and desperate, and her legs spread wide. Eric stared at her a long, long time, then dropped the cudgel, tugged off his clothes, and advanced. He sank onto the bed, settled low on hands and knees over the trembling fox-girl, his mouth descending toward her throat. A voice calling from behind made him freeze.

“Hey, Eric, you hecking _moron_!”

He twisted round, incredulous, to see a literal weasel-girl standing in the middle of the room, clothes loose on her body. “What?! _How_?!”

“The formula works, you pinhead,” Lacey jibed. “If you'd stuck around for more than two minutes after jabbing Cel, you'd know that.”

Eric growled, then sneered. “Doesn't matter. You can't stop me. You can barely stand up.”

“I'm not going to,” Lacey responded. “Her mother is.”

Eric snorted. “She can't even mo-”

“GET YOUR _FUCKING_ HANDS OFF MY DAUGHTER!” Cinna screamed as she slammed shoulder-first into him, knocking him off Lily so violently he hit the side of the other bed, jolting it backwards, before he hit the floor between them. She leapt onto him as he lay in a daze, clamping her hands, claws unsheathed, to his neck. Ragged and panting, blood trickling from nose and lips, she put her face close to his and seethed with tail lashing wildly.

“I should tear your throat out for what you've done,” she spat, tensing her claws just enough for red to bead around them. After a look at Lily, though, and her ears had flicked at the sound of Lacey unblocking the door, she eased off. “But you're not worth it.”

She slumped onto the same bed as the still sobbing fox-girl, drawing them to her, kissing and nuzzling their face. An unsteady and strained Lacey soon joined them, then they all watched in silence as two police officers strode in to take charge of Eric. They pulled him up, made him put his shirt and shorts back on, cuffed him, and marched him rapidly out of the room. He didn't look back.

After that, things drifted into a blur. In lengthy succession they were examined by paramedics; interviewed by an officer; had a long phone conversation with the officer and Ian; the syringe Lacey had left on the floor, the vial, the fursuit, the bodysuit and the cudgel were gathered; and the video of events recorded by Jan's laptop copied to a card.

After all of that the room emptied of everyone bar Cin, Lily and Lacey, then, one by one, very slowly, the rest of the group came back, having been questioned at length elsewhere. It was nearly three hours before the whole main group were together again, huddled close on the beds they'd pushed against one another.

Only then did they feel like discussing what had happened, and it was Verity, the last to appear, who started. “I asked Cel to join us when he's able; he looked like he really needed some arms to fall into.”

“I know the feeling,” Lacey, who'd sloughed her clothes, sighed, wryly, still a little weary. “Changing your species takes it right out of you.”

Sabine rubbed the weasel girl's belly. “What was it like?”

“Painful,” Lacey responded, drolly. “Until I blacked out. Then, when I came round, sore all over, and so tired and disorientated I could barely stand up. This is gonna take a _lot_ of getting used to.”

“How come you look just like your suit?” Lily, who'd barely left Cinna's embrace since Eric had been arrested, asked, quietly.

“Eric called the formula 'psycho-reactive',” the cat recalled. “I suppose that means it can read your mind. Somehow.”

“Eric told Cel to think of his 'sona when he jabbed him,” Lacey added in. “He was mocking him, obviously, but it actually worked, so I figured it would for me, too.”

“Wait.” A thought occurred to Jan. “You _wanted_ to be injected?”

Lacey nodded. “Didn't want Lily or Cin or Sabby to be, so I thought, if I could get inside, I'd make Eric use it on me. Gotta admit I wasn't being truly altruistic; if it worked, dream come true.”

“ _If_ it worked,” Sabine repeated, nosing behind one round ear. “What if it hadn't?”

“It worked,” Lacey replied, simply. She looked at herself in the broken wardrobe mirror, took in the sleekly pointed head, the trim muzzle, the compact ears, the long, thick plumes of whiskers, the heterochromatic eyes, the shorter and trimmer frame, the plush maroon and white fur, the four new nipples on her stomach, the short, thin tail, and the more paw-like hands and feet with pads on the palms and the digit tips and stubby little claws, and smiled. “I'm a real, gen-u-wine weasel-girl, and I can't help loving that, even if...” Her eyes drifted to Cin.

The cat, her shoulder bandaged where the mirror had cut it, dark tints to her fur where heavy bruises covered the centre of her belly and one side of her ribs, her lip split and her nose cut, chuckled softly. “You got your dream, my incredibly brave daughter” – her eyes glistened at the word – “who saved my life is safe, and Eric's going to prison for a _very_ long time, so everything considered I think I can live with feeling like I was the puck in an ice-hockey game.”

“How bad is it?” Hazel asked, sitting close.

“Not as bad as it looks. I thought he'd broken my ribs, but they're just bruised, and that's the worst of it. With painkillers and rest I should be fine in a few weeks, and Ian's promised to make _sure_ I rest.” She gave a lopsided grin. “Maybe by then I'll have pieced everything together.”

“I think I've worked it out,” Verity responded. “Being banned must've pushed him over the edge. He very likely posted he was leaving in the midst of a thoughtless rage, and only some time later remembered his secret second fursuit, likely bought so he could mooch around at cons and pick up useful info without anyone knowing, and realised he could use it to stay, and maybe even get to Lily.”

“But still needed us to think he'd gone,” Leslie interjected, “so staged that photo. Right?”

“Right.” Verity nodded. “He did it the instant the idea occurred, even if that was at two a.m., and it served its purpose. Most people, myself included, believed he'd gone. I think he took the photo, and the girl was wearing the suit. She must also have taken his phone in order to post from the station. Where she was and what she did for three plus hours before catching the train only she knows. As to who the other person in the photo was...”

“Celandine,” Lacey supplied. “He couldn't sleep, so took a walk round the hotel, and happened to look out of the main doors when Eric was taking the photo. Eric obviously didn't spot Cel until after he'd posted the photo, but seeing it was someone who could cause him a whole lot of trouble, he chased him down, cornered him in his room, and...”

“Tried to silence him.” Verity frowned. “The police found the grey cat trapped in Eric's bathroom with a head wound and a concussion, so I'm pretty certain he and Eric had a serious disagreement about it.”

“Guess he found his limit,” Jan noted. “Disturbing the girl hasn't.”

“For all we know,” Cin put in, “she agreed to the ruse so she could run away and never look back, and keep the suit and phone as a bonus.”

“I honestly hope that's the case,” Verity replied. “The one thing I can't figure out is how Eric got in _here_. We still had our key-cards.”

“The cleaner,” Lily piped. “The one who knew what a murrsuit was.”

“Has to be.” Cin nodded firm agreement. “Eric showed up when they were supposed to, and they haven't appeared at all.”

“Agreed to help, or was blackmailed into it,” Sabine suggested.

“Since I'm pretty sure the police haven't found him battered senseless and thrown in a cupboard minus his master key-card, definitely,” Verity concurred. She sighed. “Five people violently attacked, most of whom could have been killed, all to try and sexually assault a twelve year old girl. How the hell did he get so bad?”

“Cel can help with that,” Lacey answered. “And helpfully enough, I do believe he's coming. This hearing's something else...”

A few seconds later a fairly hesitant knock sounded at the door. Hazel opened it, to admit a yellow and white skunk in his late teens clad in a huge, baggy t-shirt his tail stuck out of the top of behind his head, and tracksuit bottoms he was holding tight at the waist. He looked as worn down as everyone else, and tripped over his own feet as he entered.

“Please excuse the outfit,” he apologised in a soft, honeyed voice shot through with warmly wry humour, “but nothing else fits, and I can tell you from experience the hotel staff do _not_ like it when guests wander around the place au naturelle, even if it _is_ entirely by accident.”

Hazel led him to the beds. “Accident?”

With encouragement from the group Celandine discarded his clothes and settled with legs tidily crossed among them. “I'm a naturist, living in a naturist resort my naturist father owns. I'm also more than a little absent-minded. Stick the two together, and you end up with idiot me getting almost to the stairs before realising why people were looking at him so very askance.”

Lily giggled, looking brighter than she had since morning, eyes alight and ears faintly coloured as she gazed at the skunk. His face balanced the feminine and the masculine attractively, as did his lightly filled-out frame. Most of his lush fur was the yellow of spring flowers, while his throat, chest, belly and stripes were the white of fresh snow. His huge tail was larger than his head and torso put together, big enough for her to use as a body pillow. The idea made her blush a little brighter.

Then Lily noticed the subtle melancholy in his manner, and, seized by impulse, slipped from Cin's arms and set herself in his lap, looping her arms round him and laying her head on his chest. Everyone else stared at her with widened eyes, Celandine looking utterly confounded, then Cinna burst out laughing, if only briefly before wincing.

“I think she likes you!” she told the skunk, grinning.

Lily coyly nosed the underside of his chin.

“ _Really_ likes you,” Cin corrected, laughing again. “Might be coming on a _little_ strong there, sweetie.”

Cel chuckled, shaking his head. “Far be it from me to complain about affectionate attentions from a _very_ pretty girl.” He folded his arms and tail around her. “Even if I am confused as to why I'm getting them.”

“Well, you _did_ bring her back safely,” the cat reasoned. “At serious risk to yourself. That pretty much makes you the anti-Eric, to her.”

“And you're cute,” Lily chirped. “And Verry said you could use a hug.”

The skunk blushed, dipping his head; Lily nuzzled the tip of his snout; he laughed again, and nuzzled her back. “Just glad I heard her, and I've just had my life tipped upside-down, so yes, yes I could.”

“What about a kiss?” Lacey asked, hopefully; Cel's answer was to lean over and briefly blend his muzzle with hers; she giggled. “I win.”

“Been wanting to do that for quite a while,” he smiled. “Now, on the subject of Eric, I _do_ know how he got so bad. Who here remembers a controversy involving him four years ago?”

“When a girl accused him of groping her at a con?” Verity suggested.

“That's the one,” Cel confirmed. “She couldn't prove it, it was just her word against his, and as he was already quite popular, his word carried a lot more weight. She was dismissed as a liar.”

“I have to be honest,” Jan admitted, shame in his voice, “I thought she was lying, too, just an attention-seeker. She wasn't, though, was she?”

“No. A few months back, I was browsing videos people had posted of that con, and in the background of one, who do I spot but Eric grabbing that very girl's breast as he passed her. He was guilty, and, moreover, _he'd gotten away with it_.”

“Which made him bolder,” Verity realised. “The more popular he got, the bigger the risks he took, and the more he got away with, until...”

“Until he believes himself so untouchable,” Cin concluded, “he thinks he can indulge all his sick little fantasies without consequences.”

“He was wrong,” Cel noted, simply, then sighed. “Sadly, they weren't just for him. I'll be amazed if the hotel lets the con stay here after this, and they'll struggle to find another venue, so it's entirely possible this will be the last one.”

“Won't do much for the fandom's rep, either,” Lacey frowned.

“True, but anyone who thinks a sociopath like Eric could only develop in furry,” Verity opined, “needs to look around more.”

Jan's phone chose that moment to chime. “Message from Ginger,” he reported. “'Main stage. Swimwear. Bring Lily.'. Doesn't say why.”

“Beach party?” Lacey suggested, half-seriously.

“After all that's happened,” Sabine replied, “that actually sounds like a really good idea.”

“I'm in no fit state to party,” Cin sighed. “Beach or otherwise.”

“Then just sit, drink, and talk,” Hazel told her.

“That's likely what I'll be doing,” Leslie chimed in. “If it _is_ a party.”

“One way to find out.” Jan stood.

Cel lifted a hand. “I don't have any swimwear.”

“Try my one-piece,” Cin offered.

To the skunk's delight, and Lily's distraction, it fit well. Jan pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank top, Verity paired her high-neck top with her shorts and her tail, and everyone else donned their bikinis, if with a bit of tightening on Lacey's part, and help from Hazel on Cin's. Then they left the room, and headed downstairs, the weasel carrying the cone.

The corridors were almost empty. So were the main hotel spaces. Of the police the only sign was a cluster of vehicles outside the lobby, and an officer talking to reporters; the group hurried off before they could be seen. The con areas were silent and deserted. It therefore came as quite a shock to open the main stage door to a sea of swimwear-clad people, a suited and bikini-clad Ginger prominent in it, who reacted to their appearance with fervent applause and cheers.

They were ushered to the rear of the room, where the con chair stood on a raised platform, in front of a DJ at their decks.

“Thank you all for coming,” the woman greeted them. “I know all this might seem inappropriate, in the circumstances, but it didn't feel right that the unforgivable actions of Eric Anderson would close out this con, my last con as chair.”

Her eyes flicked to the door, where a couple of reporters were looking in; the furries closed ranks so they couldn't enter. “Eric Anderson does _not_ represent this convention, or the fandom, regardless of what some might say. Every person gathered in this room does, and _I_ say this con should draw to a close by celebrating that. What do _you_ say?”

The response was unanimous, enthusiastic, and loud.

The chair looked to the group. “And what do _you_ say?”

Lacey put the cone on her head. “We say: heck Eric, and let's party.”

The chair laughed. “Then party!”

As the DJ started their decks, the chair stepped down from the raised platform, spoke quickly with each of the group, then headed outside to talk to, and draw off, the reporters. While the others joined the crowd in losing themselves in the music, dancing and laughing and singing to their heart's content, Cin and Leslie took up chairs at the border of the room, sipped drinks, and watched.

It wasn't long before Jan managed to inveigle Leslie into dancing with him, leaving the cat alone. She didn't mind at all, not least since there was an endless procession of people pausing to exchange friendly chat with her, and Lily kept on breaking away from dancing with all kinds of partners, but most commonly Cel, to check on her.

It was on the ninth visit Cinna made a decision. She caught the vixen by their waist, and drew them in, nuzzling them warmly. “You think of me as a mother, right?”

Lily nodded vigorously. “My marvellous Mum.”

Cin's eyes moistened, and sparkled. “And I certainly think of you as a daughter, a wonderful, brave, _beautiful_ daughter.”

Lily blushed, giggling. Then her eyes started to widen.

“ _So_...” Cin paused, savouring the moment. “Since we no longer have to worry about Eric, or the rogue lab...what do you think about making that relationship official...?”

Lily squealed, and vibrated on the spot as she fought furiously not to launch herself at the cat. Cinna laughed, and drew her in; they kissed and nuzzled and kissed and giggled, and cried again, together, and this time the tears couldn't have been happier.

“Love you, Mum,” Lily whispered.

“Love you too,” Cinnamon murmured. “Daughter.”


End file.
